


Please Come Home For Christmas

by xxjinchuurikixx



Series: Breathless [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, No Smut, Sleepy Cuddles, Wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjinchuurikixx/pseuds/xxjinchuurikixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never wants to feel that again. He never wants to pull away from Harry’s touch, never wants Harry to give him that stern, helpless look that says there’s nothing we can do.<br/>There’s something Eggsy can do, right now, to ensure that never happens to them again.<br/>For Harry.<br/>For us.<br/>He’s ready to cross the bridge. He just hopes Harry is right behind him.</p><p>**<br/>In which the secret of his relationship with Harry has Eggsy feeling less than merry over Christmas dinner at his mum’s.<br/>A follow-up to Breathless: A Tale of Eggsy Unwin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Come Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hoooooooooooooly Shit. It's finally here!!!! Thank you, my pretty, patient darlings.
> 
> First and foremost, a gigantic I love you to my beta, [thirstforfirth](http://thirstforfirth.tumblr.com/)  
> Without her, y'all wouldn't have this fic... Well, you would, but with more epithets. We'll get to the fic now, but my love for you, Liz, must go at the very top of this freaking diamond that you pressed out of my lil lump of Christmas fluff coal.
> 
> As always, xo, Mo . Come see me on le tumblr [xxjinchuurikixx](http://xxjinchuurikixx.tumblr.com/)

 

"Yeah. Yeah, Mum, we'll be there. No, I promise, I won't be late. A gentleman is never late," Eggsy says teasingly as he slides into Arthur's office, drawing Harry's eyes up from the video feed he's watching of Tristan's mission.

He had muted it long ago, having grown tired of the riotous discord between Merlin’s Scottish brogue and the quickly snapped words of the Irish agent. Still, it's always nice seeing the others in action, though Eggsy is still his favourite.

Harry smiles fondly at how Eggsy’s hair is combed ever-so-perfectly in the opposite direction of his own part.  It’s the little things that get to him the most: the tiny, obvious signs of Eggsy truly acknowledging his return and slowly releasing the need to hold onto every miniscule reminder—the signs of Harry finally becoming enough.

The door is ajar long enough for JB to trot in and come directly over to Harry's desk.

"Roxy's comin'. Mum, no, she don't want presents . . . well, I don't care if it's—" Eggsy groans and shuts the door behind him, leaning against the dark wood so he can turn his gaze on Harry. He then pulls a long box wrapped in snowflake-patterned paper from behind his back, hugging it against his hip as he listens on the phone. 'For Merlin, yeah?' he mouths as he shakes the gift.

Harry nods.

Eggsy puts down the box in order to produce a silver bow from his pocket, which he sets on top of his head. "Yeah, Mum," he says, and then mouths, 'For you,' pointing to himself and then to Harry.

Harry smiles too fondly and brightly to be merely polite, adoration practically oozing from his pores. It’s almost become a problem: the head of a prestigious spy agency enamoured arse over tits with his reckless underling. Of course, they’re never anything but professional at HQ, but professionalism only goes so far when Eggsy is in the same room. If the world can't accept that Harry can't contain his love for his precious boy, the world can just fuck off.

Eggsy grins, reaching a hand up to remove the bow and smooth his hair back, though not a strand is out of place. "Fine then. But if we's doin' presents and dinner, I'm bringin' one more person along."

Harry's good eye twitches, and he presses his mouth to a fine line before glancing back down at the monitor.

He scratches something down about Tristan needing more tension on his left side when firing before he clips the thin notebook monitor shut, pulling off his glasses so he can rub at his good eye.

"Yeah, just one. And you gotta be nice. In the proper Christmas spirit and all, you get me?" Eggsy says in a serious tone, like he's scolding JB for stealing a biscuit off the table at tea. "Please, Mum. You can do this for me. Do it for your only son—your firstborn, jewel of your crown."

There's a remark about Eggsy’s cheek from the other end of the conversation so loud that Harry hears it and smiles despite himself.

But Eggsy's grinning, and he lets his head knock back against the wood of the door with a sigh. "I love you. I'll see you at one, yeah? Or should we make it two, since—yeah. Yeah? Okay, good. I'm so happy for you, Mum. I can't wait. Two it is. Love you. Bye." Eggsy pulls the phone away from his ear and taps the red circle at the bottom. " _Yes!_ " he whispers excitedly, and when he looks at Harry, there’s a mischievous glint in his steely eyes, magnified by the dark rims framing his gaze.

"I don't like that look," Harry tells him pointedly. "You only ever have it when you mean to cause me mental detriment."

"Don't be like that, sweetheart," Eggsy tells him, and it immediately knocks down a great many of Harry's barriers like a wave on walls of sand. Eggsy may have a praise kink, but Harry goes weak in the knees for a delicate pet name. His boy has a way of undoing him like that.

"Stop bringing him in with you. This isn't a nursery," Harry says quickly as he points down at JB, who is sitting dutifully by his feet and staring up at him warmly.

"Roxy brings Dagonet in. Don't be so cold, Harry, he loves you. Right, JB? You love Papa Harry?"

The pug turns his head and snorts at his master.

"Don't call me that. And Dagonet is trained to sniff out bombs. JB here is trained to sniff out your dirty socks and the closest sweet," Harry retorts.

JB snuffles again.

"You hurt his feelings sayin' shit like that," Eggsy teases, crossing the room to perch on the edge of Harry's desk.

"Manners, Eggsy."

The scolding goes blatantly unheeded.

“Don’t see how you can be workin’ right now as it is. When I woke up alone, I figured the world was endin’. Honestly, Harry, it’s _Christmas_.”

“Christmas or not, people are out there trying to blow up the Himalayas for diamond mines that don’t exist, Eggsy. It’s our job to serve and protect,” Harry replies.

“Not on Christmas,” Eggsy says. “And not if it means me wakin’ up without you.”

“It’s just some light assessments and paperwork filing.”

“Then it can wait?” Eggsy asks, perking up.

Harry looks up at him through his lashes, quirking a brow.

"So, it’s Christmas, yeah?" Eggsy says quietly, plucking at the corner of a document.

Harry claps his hand over the edge of the paper, ceasing Eggsy's nervous pinching and scratching. "That it is. Gotten all your gifts together yet?"

"You know I have," Eggsy says triumphantly, and yes—Harry knows because he was present for the purchasing of most of them as well as for the curses that fell from Eggsy's lips as he did his best to wrap them to perfection for his mother, Daisy, and Roxy.

It had been a lovely few days strolling through Covent Garden and Notting Hill, dipping into shops, and standing close to Eggsy in the dusting of snow as they flitted through the merry throngs of people. It had been captivating having Eggsy beside him, and Harry had been honoured to accompany him on such a personal mission.

"I'm sure your mother will be thrilled to have you home for the holiday," Harry adds, and even manages to keep a neutral expression despite knowing that he's going to lose his boy for the day.

A flush colours Eggsy's throat, the lobes of his ears, and begins to dust his perfect cheeks. "Yeah, Mum's always loved Christmas. Always made a big deal of it for me. Well, not like we had traditions or nothin' . . . not with Dean, anyhow—there was never time for real traditions. I mean, Mum always got me a present or two. Never anythin' big. But, hey." He clears his throat and laughs a little uneasily, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. "No time like the present to start a new one, yeah?"

"Darling, is there a point to your rambling?" Harry asks warmly, brushing his fingertips over the back of Eggsy's hand on the desk.

Eggsy nods. "We's havin' Christmas dinner, yeah? Like real, proper dinner. Mum's makin' a turkey, and she's invited Carol and Jack over, and this new bloke she's been seein'. Tim. Tom? I forgot, but I just hope he’s better than Dean. Mum seems to think so; she says he’s well mint. He’s a doctor, like, a real one."

"Eggsy, that's lovely. I'm happy for her."

"Yeah, me too. I guess they been on a few dates, but she thinks she's finally ready to let him meet me and Daisy, which means he must’ve passed some kinda _mental_ test."

Harry nods. "Naturally."

“To be fuckin’ honest, though, I’m a bit worried. I don’t wanna meet this guy, Harry. He could end up a complete fuckin’ arsehole like Dean,” Eggsy huffs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Eggsy, don’t work yourself up worrying. It’ll be fine, love,” Harry tells him simply, reaching over to give Eggsy's knee a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure your mother wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. And if she did, you're here to support and protect her, as I am here for you.”

Eggsy nods, and some of the tension is relieved from his shoulders as he leans in closer to Harry. "Well, when you put it that way . . . makes it sounds like less of a fuckin’ pain," he says, although he’s still not completely reassured.

Harry smiles up at him.

"Anyhow, I asked if I could bring along Rox, ‘cause, you know, she's practically family herself now. Mum said ‘of course.’"

"Again, I'm glad you and Lancelot have such a strong bond. Not since Merlin and I have two proposals from the same litter been kept together as agents. It's lovely. Like re-reading a good book," Harry says with a distant smile, remembering waking up in the middle of the night to the room flooding while Merlin had tugged him aside and told him exactly how to make a loo snorkel. Directly after, Harry had taken a huge breath and busted out of the false mirror before the room had even finished flooding.

 _Reckless,_ Merlin had said, pushing Harry's mop of soaked curls out of his face while another proposal clapped him on the back to help him cough up the water in his lungs. _Positively reckless, Hart._

“Roxy’s a good bruv,” Eggsy says. “The best in fact. She’s lookin’ forward to this afternoon. Guess her family is out of the country for the holiday, so she’s gotta settle for me.”

"There’s something else, isn’t there?"

"I asked my mum if I could bring one other person along. You know, as part of the family for this, erm . . . this, er, resplendent? Auspi– ast–" He bites his lip and curses in his head. What a time to be tripping over his words.

"Momentous works just fine."

"Right. Momentous occasion," Eggsy laughs, flushing as he ducks his head forward.

Harry can feel warmth filling his chest—a fire he would happily choke on, if only to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

"Harry, will you come with me?" Eggsy says softly, and when he laces their fingers together on the desk and looks up through those damnable golden lashes, Harry's breath stills on his lips.

This is a rather big deal to Eggsy, that much is obvious. "Oh, Eggsy, I . . . "

"If you say no, I'll understand. I mean, like, if you’d rather stay here to work—even though it’s fuckin’ Christmas and all. Or if you just really, really don't wanna go, I'll . . . I'll get it," Eggsy says, perfectly calm, voice soft and clear. It's the glow in his eyes, the even tempo of his breathing that tells Harry he's being completely honest. "I won't be mad or nothin’. I won't hold it against you if this ain’t exactly your scene."

Well, is it that blatantly obvious?

Harry Hart has no family. Not anymore. He's told Eggsy this. He knows Harry is an only child whose father died in the line of duty long ago, just before his mother's illness took her apart.

It’s probably been about 30 years since he’s had a decent Christmas.

If he said the idea of being in a warm home surrounded by people who genuinely wanted to be in one another's close company for the day didn't frighten him a bit, he'd be lying.

After all, a glass of port and a quiet night by the fireplace with Merlin after they'd exchanged cufflinks or leather-bound first editions hardly counted as a family Christmas.

More often than not, Harry actually took missions around the holidays. He'd rather be out in the field with a sting between his shoulder blades and a fire in his gut than sitting home alone with a log in the hearth and a record playing to fill the silence.

"Harry?" Eggsy's voice, gentle and warm, breaks him from his reverie.

"I'm sorry, darling," he says, and when Eggsy rises from his seat on the desk to stand directly beside him, Harry can't look up. "I just don't see how that would work . . .  Your mother doesn't even know we're together. I'm your _boss_."

"It don't have to be that way, sweetheart. I just want you there with me. We can sneak in some kisses here and there, and I'll make an excuse ‘bout the weather and how you can't be expected to get home in the fuckin’ snowstorm that’s comin'. We'll be fine; she'll never notice," Eggsy says. He’s too fucking dizzy, too tired even thinking about the possibility of his mum finding out—so he just hugs Harry tighter and buries his face in his hair. He curls his fingers against Harry’s shoulder blade and digs his nails in, scraping them along the curve of his back.

Harry trembles, and his head drops down against Eggsy's hand.

"You can help me and Daisy decorate the tree I got for Mum, and you can hold my hand under the table, and kiss me under some fuckin' mistletoe. I don't know, I'll find some," Eggsy continues, and Harry shakes his head, licking his lips as he curls and uncurls his fist on his desk. "I love you, Harry . . . whatever you need, it’s fine with me. I just want you to be happy."

"Eggsy, this . . . I’m not . . . "

Arms wrap around his shoulders and Eggsy presses a kiss to the crown of his head, breathing softly against the rich scent of his pomade. "You haven't had a Christmas in a long time, have you, love?"

Harry shakes his head, lifting one hand to clasp at the wrist braced across his chest. There's a terrible pause, one that makes Harry feel he's completely ruined everything.

"You don't have to come, Harry. But I promise, if you do, it'll be fun. I'll keep you safe; I won't leave your side. We'll tell stories; we'll laugh; we'll open presents. We'll spend the night, have breakfast, and it'll be really fun. I promise," Eggsy tells him slowly, carding his fingers through Harry's dark tresses before he kisses his head again. "But you don't have to come. If you don't want to, just stay here. And I'll see you at home tomorrow night."

"Eggsy—"

"No, it's alright. I've gotta go talk to Merlin, give him his present, but I'll be at the shuttle at ten. If you don't meet me there, I'll go by myself, yeah?"

Before Harry can protest, Eggsy pulls back, dips down, and claims Harry's mouth in a kiss that is unexpectedly tame and chaste, considering that Eggsy initiated it.

It's refreshing to be exposed to the fire blazing in Eggsy without being burnt. Just being in his presence, Harry feels the heat of it—like Eggsy couldn’t stop glowing if he tried. He’s such a lit fuse—it reminds Harry of days long past when he was that brilliant, that bright. Harry relishes it, and gives his boy his all. He just wishes his all was . . . more. Desperately so.

He wishes he could give Eggsy a decent relationship—a _normal_ relationship. He’s so disappointed in himself, so very ashamed that he’ll never have the means to give Eggsy all that he deserves. He wishes he were the sort of person Eggsy could be proud of—the kind he wouldn’t have to hide. But in the end, Eggsy is his bold brass, and Harry is old iron. When they stand side by side, who couldn’t see that?

Eggsy pulls back and grins at him, and Harry’s line of thought is broken. "I love you," he says, then nuzzles their noses together and turns on his heel. "Keep JB, just in case. You be good for Harry, okay, boy?"

The pug just gets up, walks a few circles, and plops down under the desk by Harry's ankles.

Eggsy smiles. "Good boy. I'll see you later, Harry. Happy Christmas."

Then he's gone.

He's gone, so fucking gone, and Harry drops his face into his hand. "Christ, I'm a right foul prick, JB," he mutters before he scrubs his hand down his face and rests his chin in his palm. "I suppose I just wasn't ready for that. Your father, he's good at ruining me. You know that, don't you?"

JB doesn't reply, simply noses forward until his face is curled against the side of Harry's shoe.

A deep sigh escapes from Harry's lips and he lounges back against his armchair, staring at the documents on his desk awaiting approval.

There’s so much work to do, and he feels exhausted just looking at it.

Glancing at the door, he reaches up and brushes his fingertips along the line of his eyepatch. A memory sparks to life in his mind, and he can feel Eggsy's skin, hot and slick under his palms, taste his heartbeat on his tongue, hear his voice, broken and breathless and so needy . . . just giving, giving . . .

"That boy is everything to me, JB," Harry says matter-of-factly, and he looks back down to see that the pug has drifted into a deep sleep, snores increasing in volume.

Harry sighs and lifts his arm, observing his watch face. The second hand only twitches past half a minute before he makes a decision.

**

Roxy is already there when Eggsy gets to Merlin’s office.

She's sitting precariously at the edge of his desk, leaning into his personal space as he settles into hers, and the position is a familiar one. It’s so easy to see himself perched on Harry’s desk in such a manner, casting a shadow across paperwork that _has to be done by tonight, Eggsy. There’s a perfectly good chair right there_.

It almost makes him pause, but Eggsy's too brash for such polite social protocol. He just keeps strolling into the room and plops down onto a leather armchair, grinning as he crosses his legs with the present on his lap.

"Got plans for the afternoon, Lynn? Or are you just gonna work the holiday away?" he asks, and Merlin sighs.

"Planning on inviting me to your family get together, Galahad?" he asks dryly. Roxy tips her head back, ponytail sweeping her shoulders, so that she can see Eggsy over her shoulder.

"Inviting Merlin?" she asks brightly. "Well, why not just throw the whole of Kingsman into your mother's living room, Eggsy?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "I mean, I’d _love_ to, and my mum probably wouldn’t mind. But he’s probably busy doing whatever it is Merlins do on Christmas."

Merlin nods. "We flock together in packs and talk about our never-ending exposure to Eggsy Unwins and how high it makes our blood pressure."

Eggsy rolls his eyes.

"But, as it were, I do have a previous engagement this evening that I have to prepare for. As for right now, I have to go and have a chat with Hector about the museum in Tokyo that he destroyed the better part of in his last mission," Merlin huffs, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Lancelot, you be sure to keep this one in check for the afternoon, aye?"

"Of course, Lynn," Roxy says with a glittering smile, then pats him on the shoulder as she slides off of his desk. She flicks the ribbon atop the box. "Where's mine?"

"You don't get yours ‘til after we’ve had Christmas dinner."

"You following some kind of rule, Eggsy? Because I’ve never known you to do anything of the sort."

"First time for everything, fam."

Roxy rolls her eyes. "I'm going to go home and get things ready. Text me your mum's address again, alright?"

"Lose it, did you, Lance?" Eggsy quips.

"No, it got buried under emoticons depicting your day in greater detail," Roxy shoots back, flicking Eggsy on the ear as she passes him. "See you boys later."

Once she's out of the office, Eggsy slides down in his chair, grinning at Merlin with his chin resting on his chest. " _Merlin._ "

"Wipe that cheeky look off your face, you little urchin," Merlin snaps.

"What was Rox doin' in here? Chattin' ‘bout the weather?"

"There is absolutely no point in discussing the weather. It's as dry and bland as discussing my wallpaper."

"We live in England, guv. Ain’t nothin’ dry about it."

"Hm. Amusing," Merlin retorts, but there's absolutely no bite in his tone. Eggsy likes when he gets like this, so lazy that he can't even pretend to be vexed with him.

"Here. I got you somethin'," Eggsy says before he can forget, and he gets up and sets the box on the desk.

"What is it, exactly? By the shape of the box, I'm guessing a colourfully crafted model of a male extremity," Merlin says, arching his brow high.

Eggsy claps a hand over his chest. "Bruv, would I do such a thing? I'm a _gentleman_."

"Hm, yes. I can see that." Merlin laughs, and tugs on the ribbon so that it falls in slippery, silky strands from the box. When he pops the lid open, he's still grimacing at it like he half expects it to be an artfully made dildo.

Then his eyes widen and he gets the tiniest smile on his face.

"My, my . . . "

"Told you I was good," Eggsy says boldly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"This, this is . . . " Merlin says, glancing down at the top half of the box. It's a glittering yellow bottle of cologne, one he's not bought for himself since he was at university with Harry. "Hylnds?"

"Yeah, Harry mentioned you liked it, from before your Kingsman days. I mean, I just stumbled upon it, no big deal. Smells proper lush, guv. Suits you better than that other shit you wear, I think." He scrubs at the back of his neck with a grin.

Merlin's smirk grows a little broader, so that he's nearly wearing an actual, human smile. "That's . . . " He shakes his head and then runs his fingertips over the other gift, a thin golden frame with a glass window set between the shimmering metal.

"Er, twinflower," Eggsy says, referring to the double-flowered snow-drop pressed between the panels of glass, the chain at the top designed for hanging from a window or even a Christmas tree.

Merlin's staring at it like Eggsy's just handed him a pressed squirrel tail.

"Harry said that they used to grow in the windowbox of your house when you was little. To be honest, I should’ve put his name on the fuckin’ box, but he got you somethin' of his own."

"Jesus Christ," Merlin groans, clapping his hand over his face.

"Merlin?" Eggsy gasps, and takes a step back in shock when Merlin gets up from his desk and comes around it. "I—I—I'm sorry, if I upset you, I mean. I just thought. . . err, I just wanted to be thoughtful."

He holds his arms up in defense despite himself before Merlin grabs him by the back of his neck and yanks him in for a hug.

"God, you terrible creature," Merlin huffs against his hair, and Eggsy is frozen, hands on Merlin's chest, eyes snapped wide open as he stares at the empty space above Merlin's chair. "You terrible, delightful, thoughtful creature. Thank you, Eggsy."

Eggsy stares. "Wot?"

"This is . . . this is a wonderful gift. Thank you so much. You stupid, cheeky thing."

"I mean . . . you're welcome, Merlin," Eggsy says slowly, but when he moves to slide his hands around Merlin's waist to return the hug, Merlin pushes him back down into his chair with a 'flop'.

"No hugging. What do you think this is, lad?" Merlin baulks, holding his hand up to gesture to the space between them.

Eggsy flounders. " _You_ hugged _me!"_

"Doesn't mean you hug me back. You get one-sided hugs or none at all. Those are the rules."

"Huggin' is the shizz, bruv! It's fuckin' Christmas! Hug me!" He makes an attempt to get back up and Merlin flicks him in the forehead, setting him back in the chair with ease.

"Don't make me kick you out of my office. I'll keep your present, too," Merlin says, going back behind his desk to grab a box from a drawer, no bigger than his palm, and tossing it to Eggsy.

He catches it easily, turning it over to examine the rich midnight blue wrapping paper, a tiny gold bow in the top corner.

Eggsy beams. "Thanks, Lynn."

"Yes, yes, it's nothing."

"Tryin’ to clear the air? Don't you get all sentimental with Harry this time of year?"

Merlin instantly changes the subject, taking advantage of his window of opportunity like any good Kingsman.

"How did he take it then? Seeing as you're here and not there."

That makes Eggsy pause, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers together. "I dunno. I mean, he seemed a little . . . " He waves his hand in a noncommittal motion.

"Yes, Harry's always kept his distance from the holidays," Merlin remarks, lifting his steaming mug of coffee to his lips. "I'm sorry, lad."

"No, 's fine."

"I can rough him up for you a bit, if you like. I know how much this means to you," Merlin offers with a lift of his dark brows, and Eggsy laughs lightly.

"Nah, no need, bruv. If he's not ready then . . . that's fine." But it's really not, and Merlin can hear it in Eggsy's voice.

He frowns deeply. "This is one of those obstacles that may be ever present in your relationship. You're still young and exuberant, Eggsy. Harry is . . . not to say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but he's always been this way. Very set in his path of life, following the same shoe-worn steps as ever."

"I know, I know." Eggsy shakes his head. "I just . . . I've gotta try. I love him, Merlin."

"Yes, lad. I've caught on that much," Merlin teases with a warm smile, fleeting as a ray of sunlight in the harsh of winter.

It's not exactly a secret, Eggsy and Harry. Everyone and their mother at Kingsman could tell that they were gone on each other but too stubborn to get over themselves., And now that they’ve become a true _item_? It’s common knowledge.

Sure, they’re meticulously professional at HQ—upon Harry's scolding request—and none of the agents ever see one another in everyday life aside from Eggsy and Roxy. But the air in a room is different the moment the pair comes together.

Meetings are ceremonious and cold, completely and totally formal while Harry sits at the head of the conference table. Then Eggsy walks in, barely giving anyone more than a passing nod out of the ordinary. But everything just . . . _shifts_.

Harry lets his shoulders fall, the stressed tremor in his right hand ceases, and his lips give the barest curl at their corners.

And Eggsy stares at him with rapt attention while he gives the briefing for the latest mission.

Everybody knows.

Eggsy sighs and kicks his foot against the desk. "Pretty sure you’re not the only one who’s noticed. But you were bloody well the first."

"I should hope so. If I couldn't tell my best friend in the entire world was lost on you, I'd be a terrible Kingsman," Merlin remarks.

"I just . . . I want him to be a part of my life, _out there_. Like, not here at Kingsman, not at home, just the two of us . . . in the world we protect." Eggsy sighs, scratching at the back of his neck. "But Harry's just fine the way it is. It's kind of . . . aggravating." To be honest, Eggsy’s not sure if Harry even cares. And Harry? Harry doesn’t talk about it.

"Have you told your mother?"

Eggsy ducks his head and reaches up to fuss with the medal around his neck, tugging at the chain.

" _Eggsy_."

"She's still not used to him! We've seen her a total of _once_ since we got together, the day right after, and she was just as fuckin’ sour and cynical as ever. She doesn't even know that I moved back in. I've been goin' to _her_ house to sit Daisy,"  Eggsy says, and he leans forward and clasps his face with his hands.

"Does knowing what you do for a living ease the trouble at all?"

Eggsy snorts loudly.

"That's not exactly an answer."

"Not in the least. I mean, it helps for me. She said it made sense, all the bruises, the constant travel. She said she wanted to be upset with me, but she just couldn't." He shrugs. "She said I just better not leave her like my dad. Said I'd better be safe and always come home to her, to this wonderful life I'd given us. And then she gave Harry this really cold, nasty look, like she could’ve froze hell and all." He lifts his head and points at Merlin, giving the stare but without even a quarter of the venomous ferocity. "She said, 'you get my Eggsy killed, there ain't no amount of spy bullshit gonna save you from me. You lost me my husband; you're not gonna lose me my boy.'"

Merlin blinks, a little taken aback. "Well . . . at least you have a loving mother who would fight lions for you. And Kingsmen."

"I don't _want_ her to fight him, Lynn. I want her to _like_ him. Tolerate him, even, but she barely has the nerve to look at him for more than a few seconds before she looks like she wants him dead. I don’t want to hurt her, Merlin. I’m honestly really fuckin’ scared about what’ll happen when she finds out . . . she might hate me as much as she hates him."

"That’s impossible, lad. Your mother loves you," Merlin says, taking another drink. "How long do you plan on hiding that you're climbing into his bed every night? How long until your mother wants to have tea at your house and there's no excuse for you being at Harry's again?"

"God, why?" Eggsy grumbles, his brow pinching. If Merlin smiles, it's not his fault; Eggsy looks ever the boy plucked from the streets, stepping up to Merlin and demanding to know why he wasn't given a chute. “Why do I have to tell her _at all?_ ”

"Do you _ever_ want to have a real relationship with Harry?"

“What we got _is_ real.”

“Then tell her that.”

"I don't know how to tell her."

"Eggsy, the longer you wait—"

"I’ll wait forever if I have to! I love him, Merlin. And she hates his guts . . . I don't know what to say to her. And he's twice my age!"

"In my experience, love should never have an expiration date or a set of rules stamped on it," Merlin says. "Your mother is going to find out the truth sooner or later, and it would be better if she heard it from you than, say, I don't know . . . Roxy."

"Roxy?"

"Slip of the tongue, of course." Merlin cocks his head to the side and bats his lashes prettily. "So, Michelle, are you going over to Harry and Eggsy's for brunch this weekend? Oh, Eggsy, you should get these curtains for your and Harry's room."

"Stop that!"

"Or worse could happen. My point being, it would be best if you sat down with your mother and simply told her—"

"Mum, heya. I'm in love with my boss, you know, the Kingsman spy who got your husband killed. I really love him, Mum, and I moved back into his house with him, and by the way, he's an excellent shag," Eggsy tosses out in his brightest, peppiest voice before he springs up from the chair and throws his arms out in aghast frustration. "Are you takin' the fuckin’ piss? You want me to sit down with her and say that shit?"

"Maybe leave out the shagging. Not everyone is privy to Harry's other side," Merlin says with a quirk of the brow.

Eggsy gawks.

"Nevermind. Point being, you should just have a nice heart to heart with her about how circumstances have arisen that left you head over heels for your boss, who just so happens to be a spy twice your age," Merlin says slowly. "Eggsy, your mother is a very intelligent, patient woman with much more strength and understanding than you give her credit for. After all, she only slapped Harry twice when he told her the truth about what it is we do here." He takes another drink, then frowns down at his empty mug, running his thumb over the Kingsman insignia. "How many times can she slap him for this?"

Eggsy thinks on it for a good long minute. He thinks about how understanding his mother has been about the fact that he is constantly sent through hell and high-water to protect the world.

 _Then_ he thinks about how Harry had taken his hand in that hospital bed, the look on his face when he said he had told Eggsy's mother what they did, who they were . . . for his sake.

_How fleeting life is . . ._

He snorts. "If she finds out that I’m shaggin’ Harry . . . she’ll probably go bare mental and fuckin’ merk him."

"She wouldn't do that if she knew how you felt," Merlin says. "Look, I'm not your father; I'm your friend. If you want to keep this from her, it's your prerogative, but it's only a matter of time before it becomes trouble. I’d have thought you would have learned some valuable lessons about keeping secrets after this whole ordeal with Harry."

"We deal in secrets, bruv."

"Not when we're in love," Merlin states, and there's no room for argument with the tone he's taken and the sudden edge in his slate-coloured eyes.

Eggsy sighs deeply and fusses with his medal, dragging the pendant loop across the chain, back and forth. "Why you gotta be so smart?"

Merlin smiles, a cool, calculated thing. "It's in my job description. Have a lovely Christmas, Galahad."

**

Eggsy whistles under his breath while he waits for the shuttle, raking his fingers through his hair to ruin its careful styling. If there’s no one around for him to look smart for—meaning Harry, naturally—then he’s going to be comfortably messy.

He recounts what he has to do while he waits for the doors to slide open. _Go home. Not miss Harry. Get changed. Struggle with missing Harry. Get the presents. Try to not miss Harry. Pack the tree. Ache about missing Harry. Go to his mum's. Pretend he doesn't miss Harry. Help with dinner. Eat while missing Harry._

A thought crosses his mind, singular and focused and terrifying.

He . . . he's going to tell his mum. He is _going_ to tell his mum. Oh god, he’s going to tell his _mum_.

Just thinking it makes his head spin, his stomach a mess of fluttering wings.

While he is away from Harry and aching for him, he’s going to sit down and have a long, arduous talk with his mother about how he is in a very emotional, romantic, physical relationship with his much older boss who got her husband killed.

His stomach drops just thinking about it, and he looks down at his watch and bites his lip, trying to calculate the last possible moment he could tell her.

It’s what he and Harry deserve, damn it. No hiding, no separation; they deserve to have a normal relationship like everyone else. His mum will see he’s happy—she’ll come to accept it. And if she can’t?

. . . Eggsy doesn’t want to think about ‘can’t.’ Not now, not just yet. He’s having a hard enough time wrapping his brain around the fact that he’s decided to tell her. He’s going to have to look her in the eye and hurt her—he knows his mum well enough to imagine her reaction; she’ll feel utterly betrayed, as if Eggsy fell in love with Harry to spite her, to cause her pain.

But it won’t hurt forever, he reasons. She’ll be fine. He and Harry will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

. . . He thinks.

"Fuck," Eggsy grumbles, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Fuck, fuck, _fu_ —"

The shuttle door slides open.

"Problem, darling?" Harry Hart asks, lounging in one of the shuttle carriage seats with his legs crossed and his hands folded on his lap. JB is sitting his opposite, looking pleased as punch.

All previous thoughts go scattering out of his brain like dry leaves on a swift wind, and all that’s left is overwhelming joy. Eggsy's heart bursts  into a myriad of fireworks behind his ribs, and the toothy grin that splits his face doesn't go away, even as he climbs into the shuttle and kisses Harry with laughing lips.

"Not anymore," Eggsy says against his mouth as Harry rakes his fingers through Eggsy’s dishevelled hair.

"Letting yourself go, are you?"

"No sense lookin' smart if nobody important is gonna see it."

Harry kisses a trail down his jaw to the beauty mark on his neck before he tugs on Eggsy's wrist, guiding him to sit next to him as the doors close. "You always look gorgeous."

Eggsy’s grin grows brighter. "Changed your mind then?"

"Well, I figured that this is the first time I’ve ever had something to look forward to on Christmas. And I'd hate to spend any moment of my life that could be spent by your side anywhere else," Harry tells him without making eye contact, instead glancing down at his signet ring, fussing with it on his pinky.

Eggsy just can't stop fucking smiling. "You won't regret this, Harry. I promise."

"I think it will be rather fun," Harry says light-heartedly as the shuttle takes off. "We have a lovely afternoon ahead of us. You, Daisy . . . your mother,” Harry says, and he watches Eggsy’s expression pinch at his words.

“Right . . . erm, Harry?”

“Darling?”

Eggsy tucks his fingers through Harry’s hair and breathes. There’s no sense in prolonging it, but he really isn’t sure the words will come out. That is, until they do, on a messy, uneven wave of voice. “I wanna . . . maybe . . . just as a possibility for the future? I dunno . . . tell my mum about us . . . the _official_ us.”

Harry doesn’t react at first, like he hadn’t heard what Eggsy said. Then his brows furrow and his mouth tightens. “Eggsy, I’m not sure—”

“I don’t wanna have to hide you, and I don’t want us to—” He’s cut off by Harry’s hand cupping his cheek, pressing to the corner of his mouth.

Harry shakes his head, dropping his gaze. Eggsy may think that’s what he wants, but he can barely form a coherent sentence about it. Harry can see the hesitation pulling Eggsy’s nerves tight, making his voice soft. Not only is he unsure, he seems . . . afraid.

And Harry can’t ignore that. “It’s not prudent for your mother to be made aware of our relationship at the current time, Eggsy.”

He blinks. “But, Harry, I love you. I want everyone to know that. And my mum, she might be difficult, but maybe—”

"A mountain out of a molehill, Eggsy. It's not so terrible a thing. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m happy to simply be by your side tonight."

Eggsy sighs heavily at that, a sweeping rush of relief flooding his body. It’s like taking a sudden step back from a sheer cliff, the pressure and weight of the task he had set himself lifting from him with a heavy, easy breath. All previous thoughts of mentioning anything to his mum are nearly wiped clean, and Eggsy’s heart stops pounding so angrily.

"You . . . yeah, you’re right. What was I even thinkin’? I can’t tell her; not yet. I mean, Mum would go fuckin’ mental if she ever found out. I just . . . I just thought it might be nice—to not have to hide you," Eggsy says, shaking his head.

Harry nods lightly. “A lovely prospect, but we’re fine as we are, Eggsy. We’re happy, and that's all that matters, darling,” he says. "It might seem unfair to hide, but I know you don’t want to hurt your mother.”

And Eggsy doesn’t. He ducks his head and slumps his shoulders. He must be fucking mental himself, thinking he could have told his mum. He’s terrified by the very thought of how she would react if she knew.

But at the same time, he can feel a sour pressure rising in his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this—he should be fucking thrilled over Harry’s acceptance, Harry’s complete and total comfort with the necessity of hiding their relationship. It’s something for him to hide behind himself. He leans into Harry and sighs, trying to ignore the sudden flare of discomfort in his chest. But still . . . for Harry to be so indifferent about this . . . it’s somehow less than acceptable to Eggsy. He tenses involuntarily, moving away from Harry’s touch.

“Eggsy?” Harry murmurs, tentatively curling his fingers under Eggsy’s chin and tipping his face up, pulling him back to close the gap Eggsy had made.

Eggsy sighs, unable to resist the warmth and tenderness of Harry's touch. “I just . . . aren’t you upset about not being able to tell people? About people not knowing?” He's now rather tired, from the adrenaline caused by his nerves dying off, from Harry's soothing touch.

Harry brushes his thumb over Eggsy’s cheek, smiling, and there’s something burning in his gaze that Eggsy doesn’t understand, can’t fathom. “I know. It’s enough for me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t sound like he’s quite convinced of his words himself.

Worrying his lip, Eggsy presses. "Promise?"

"I will not rush you, Eggsy, nor our relationship. When the time is right, your mother will know the truth, and we'll deal with the consequences then," Harry tells him gently. "Besides, I'd rather your mother not kill me over Christmas dinner after finding out that her darling baby boy is my one and only."

Eggsy snickers, but he ducks his head in an attempt to hide the heat rising to paint his cheeks, and the spark of disappointment in his eyes. "Maybe that's a conversation better saved for Groundhog Day."

"Hm. Quite." Harry replies fondly, glancing down at his hands. It’s too much to ask for; he knows that. To have an established, public relationship with Eggsy may very well never be in the cards. It’s too risky, too taboo. Perhaps if he were twenty years younger—and thinking about his age alone makes him feel uneasy—they could pass it off without as many questions; the gap would be less substantial, less visible. But that’s not how it is, and Harry cannot change that. People wouldn’t just look at _him_ that way, either . . . they would be judging Eggsy, too. And that’s unacceptable.

Above all, it’s too painful to think of losing Eggsy, and he won’t make Eggsy choose—not between Harry and his mother, nor even Harry and the world. He notes the tension in his boy’s shoulders, the curve of his mouth pulled a little too tightly to be a genuine smile. He can’t tell if it’s reluctance or nerves, but whichever one it may be, Eggsy is not one-hundred percent keen on the proposal he has just made. Harry elects to let the matter drop for as long as possible.

"Thank you, Harry," Eggsy says, sitting back in his seat so he can smile at the man he's in love with beyond all compare.

Then Harry smiles and a flush of rose dusts his cheekbones, a warm contrast against the fabric of his eyepatch. "It's nothing, darling. As I always say—please Eggsy Unwin."

But it would please Eggsy more if Harry acted like he cared . . . just a little. Just enough.

**

It's easy enough to get home and get everything ready. Eggsy already has his overnight bag packed, along with Harry's toiletries— _c'mon, a bruv can hope, can't he, Harry?—_ and the presents are stacked neatly by the front door, ready for departure. The hardest part is getting the tree onto the car roof with little needles plinking every which way.

Standing in the hall, they go over everything they’ve put in the car a _second_ time, because _a Kingsman is always thorough, Eggsy._

Eggsy beams. "Looks like we’re ready. Now, c'mon. We gotta go now—promised Mum we'd be there at two. I told her a gentleman is never late, so we'd better not be—"

He's cut off easily when Harry's hands take his hips, easily walking him backwards. JB scuttles out of the way, and Eggsy's noise of surprise is delectably swallowed. Harry presses him seamlessly to the wall and melds their mouths together, parting Eggsy's lips and delving his tongue in.

Eggsy moans with abandon, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and letting himself be thoroughly kissed. Harry’s hands form perfect cuffs clamped over his hips, and a deep, satisfactory pulse resonates from his heart with each swipe of Harry’s tongue, each gentle nip of teeth.

When Eggsy feels like his legs are going to give out, when his mind is all static channels, Harry pulls back and gives him one more lingering, chaste kiss.

"In case I don't get to see you under that mistletoe later," Harry tells him quietly, and Eggsy knows it's the only way Harry can speak right now to keep his voice from breaking into a gravelly husk.

Eggsy lets his head thunk against the wall while he takes in a few gulping breaths.

"Wish we had more time. Got a few other things in my system I'd like to get out. You know, in case we _do_ get trapped under the mistletoe," Eggsy huffs, and Harry lifts a hand to brush the backs of his knuckles gingerly along the rise of his cheekbone.

"There is no patience in you."

"I have no need to be patient," Eggsy snarks.

"Don't give me that look. You can behave yourself for one day. If not for my sake, for your mother's." Harry smiles at him brightly before he cups his boy's cheek in his hand.

Eggsy smiles and shakes his head, a tiny, breathless laugh falling from his lips. "Well, when you put it that way."

"Good. Put your coat on," Harry tells him before he pulls away and takes their coats from the rack, slipping his on with deft precision before wrapping his scarf about his throat.

"Now, come along. Your mother will be expecting us, and I'd like to be on time, if not early, in an attempt to win her good favour," Harry says, turning to make sure they haven't forgotten anything while Eggsy pulls on his own coat. When he's satisfied, his eyes land on the pug at their feet, waiting dutifully for their departure. "JB, you'd best not mess up your jumper. Here. I'll carry you to the car."

Eggsy smiles at him as they step out into the brisk air. "I love you, Harry. I really do."

It makes Harry pause at the edge of the pavement, JB still curled in his arm, and he lifts their twined fingers to press a kiss to Eggsy's knuckles. "I know, darling. I know."

**

"You know, now that we're here, I'm filled with a deep desire to go back home," Harry tells Eggsy as they park behind Roxy's car.

Eggsy feels rather the same way. His stomach is in tiny, twisted knots, and he’s shaking a bit. “I think home sounds well good, actually.”

Harry tilts his head down with a puzzled look. “Really?”

“No, not really,” Eggsy grumbles. "Don’t look so fuckin’ down, Harry."

“You're the one who agreed with me, Eggsy,” Harry says, raising his brows.

"Is this about hidin' that we're together?" Eggsy says softly. He’s a little sorry he brought it up again the moment he says it.

Harry turns his face away almost immediately. "No, Eggsy, but if you make it about that, I will remind you that you didn’t want to tell your mother about us either."

Frowning, Eggsy looks down at his lap. He can't argue with that. He wants to, he really does, if only to press on Harry's nerves. But Harry has a point—he really _doesn’t_ want to tell his mum.

Eggsy juts his chin out and groans. Harry’s not getting out of this now. Neither of them are. "Well, we can’t turn tail now," he tells Harry before he pats his lap, JB jumping from the back seat to the front. "Let’s get the gifts. Now, JB, don't mess up your jumper, you get me? And stay close, yeah?”

The pug snuffles, and Eggsy leans across the seat to kiss Harry's jaw.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, then he's climbing out of the car before Harry can say anything else.

Everything is out of the car soon enough, Harry holding the stack of presents, Eggsy leaning into the tree and glancing at his watch. "We're right on time."

"And so without a moment to spare, into the jaws of death we sweep."

"Don't be so dramatic."

Eggsy reaches out and presses his finger to the doorbell, and Harry clears his throat and stands up even straighter.

Roxy answers the door, and it allows Harry a moment to settle against Eggsy and collect himself while the two make snide remarks about how _Eggsy would have sulked if you hadn’t come, Harry_ , and _I don’t sulk_.

"Eggsy?" Michelle's voice starts behind them in the hall, and Roxy leans aside so she can see. Michelle beams at Eggsy for about half a second before she sees Harry right behind him.

He feels like fleeing, and that's a rare thing for Harry Hart to feel. He just wants this woman's approval. God, he wants it so badly—he needs Eggsy so much, and this life they have will never be complete if he can't get Michelle Unwin, a queen in her own right, to at least like him the tiniest bit.

At the same time, he knows he may go the rest of his life without ever truly being part of Eggsy’s family. He glances down at Eggsy, the smile on his face, the colour flushing his skin, and he knows that he can’t ask anything more of this beautiful boy, let alone something that may hurt him.

So Harry smiles and lifts the presents a bit higher, almost like an offering.

_I come in peace, you see? Bearing gifts, even._

Eggsy shakes the tree merrily. "Happy Christmas!" he calls, and Michelle's eyes are ripped off of Harry as she comes to the doorway and throws her arms around Eggsy’s neck. "You look well pretty, Mum. This a new jumper? Or is it a dress?"

"Tunic, love." Roxy supplies, gesturing down to the red garment—a snowman on the chest—hugging his mother's frame, the leggings underneath patterned with snowflakes. Her hair is in a lovely dirty-blonde bun, pinned up by glittering bell-like clasps.

Michelle misses the question completely, or rather, she's too caught up in something else to give a direct answer.

"Babe, is that a living, breathing Christmas tree?" she asks, leaning back to cup his face in her hands as she looks at the tree beside him.

"Yeah, that’s right. I know it's small, but I figured Daisy and I could decorate it and put it by the fireplace. You know, for Santa."

"Santaaa!" Daisy cheers from somewhere within the house, and Eggsy peers over his mother's shoulder.

"My flower!" he exclaims, and bounces on the balls of his feet. "Mum—"

Michelle holds a hand up, sputtering for a moment before she finds her words. "Eggsy, what is he doin' here?"

Eggsy pauses, his lips parting before he turns his gaze over to Harry. Framed against the bright snow, Harry's jacket and the perfect slick of his hair are nearly black, and his whiskey-coloured eye is gleaming like a sunrise. His adam's apple bobs against the loose hug of his scarf, and when he looks over, Eggsy sees that the tremor of his right hand is making the stack of gifts shake.

It's barely there, completely unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Kingsman or not, Eggsy knows Harry well enough to have seen that shake in the dark from a mile away.

"Harry . . . ” His tongue goes dry and heavy, and Eggsy feels like he’s being slowly crushed by a sudden, reckless urge to do something crazy. _The_ crazy thing.

He could do it. Right now, he could do it, fuck it all. He could take Harry’s hand and say, ‘Mum, Harry’s my boyfriend. That’s what he’s doin’ here’. It would be all too easy to get it out of the way right then and there.

But of course, he’s still too fuckin’ terrified. There’s no way he’d be able to get it out; his chest feels too constricted for words. He doesn’t even think he wants his mum to know, and he still doesn’t want to tell her. But they deserve this, damn it. Don’t they?

The words are right at the back of his throat, stealing his breath. He bounces on his heels a bit, feels like he’s gonna buzz out of his skin as he struggles to order his thoughts.

He glances up at Harry, sees the way his mouth is set in a fine line, his throat still as he holds his breath.

Eggsy sighs. Maybe not just yet. Harry _clearly_ isn’t objecting to his silence, either. It makes Eggsy’s nose scrunch up for just a moment as he gathers himself, tamping down the irritation, that hot spike of frustration. “He ain’t got no family to celebrate with, Mum. And I genuinely enjoy his company and didn't want him to spend the holiday alone. I mean, I . . . " He shrugs. "Can't you just do this for me? Christmas spirit and all?"

They stare at each other for a long minute, and Harry and Roxy glance at one another, feeling the tension swell angrily.

Then Michelle tuts and crosses her arms, looking at Harry and only Harry. The world shrinks down to the two of them, and Harry stands straighter, pulling his posture up and brushing his elbow against Eggsy's arm. The tremor dies down the tiniest bit, and he dips his head lightly.

Eggsy wants to say something that gives him the freedom to hold Harry’s hand, to lift it to his face and kiss the tremor away entirely. But he can’t.

"As always, Michelle, you're looking incredibly lovely," he says, charm turned high despite the obvious terror he's feeling. He shifts the gifts in his arms, glancing down at them before smiling back up at her.

Eggsy stiffens. It's not the usual polite smile Harry gives people, his perfectly practised Kingsman grin that could get him out of anything. It's earnest and open, almost like the way he smiles at Merlin and Roxy, and there's just the tiniest pinch between his brows, like he's trying to will Michelle to like him.

Michelle exhales heavily through her nose, her dark golden brows rising into her fringe. "Well, I guess you're looking lovely, too. Come on in then, Mr. Hart, before you ruin those nice shoes of yours in the snow." She steps to the side, and Harry turns to Eggsy, who’s sporting a shit-eating grin.

"Thank you, madam," Harry breathes out, and Roxy pats him on the shoulder as he walks in past them. Eggsy comes in with the tree tightly against his side, his entire body buzzing and humming and just electrified with energy. Not only has Harry made it into the house, but his mum actually expressed concern about his shoes. That has to be at least _two_ steps in the right direction, yeah?

He kisses his mother on the cheek as he enters, whispering “ _thank you_ ” before he walks into the hall and observes the living room.

Carol is already sitting by a crackling fire with Daisy in her lap, and Jake is on the floor petting JB enthusiastically. The entire room is devoid of a tree, and Eggsy is so pleased that he knew his mother wouldn't buy one, even fake.

"Carol, look who made it," Michelle says brightly, and Eggsy follows Roxy into the room and nods at Carol.

Of course, she looks lovely.

Of course, she flirts with Harry. _Heavily_.

Eggsy’s throat closes up a bit. Not to be a complete twat, but it’s moments like this that make him desperately want to rub what he and Harry have in people’s faces. Like, don’t flirt with his man, aight?

“Don’t you look good tonight, Mr. Hart,” Carol says for about the fifth time.

He ducks his head and laughs, the sound brittle and strained on Eggsy’s ears, and then nods at her. “Thank you kindly, Carol.”

His voice has Daisy's head snapping up, and when her dizzied gaze scans the room and finds him, her mouth falls open in a delightfully loud sound. Carol clings to Daisy as she squeals and begins to flail her arms.

"’Arry! ‘Arry!" she exclaims, and everybody pauses to look from her to Harry.

Harry can't even pretend to be regal and collected with that lovely face grinning at him like he’s Father Christmas himself, and he takes a long stride into the living room and deposits the presents on an already formed stack beside one of the yellow armchairs.

"Hello, little flower," he says warmly, and Carol looks up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw as he dips down and simply scoops Daisy right out of her arms. "Are you having a happy Christmas?"

"I’m waiting for Santa!"

"Waiting for Santa, eh?"

"Yes, ‘Arry," she says politely, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

"Thank you, lovely. Have you given your brother one, yet?" Harry says, his cheeks the most subtle shade of pink, and Eggsy thinks he may have to take the .22 strapped to his ankle and do himself in, because he can't live like this for long.

Daisy shakes her head, then bows backwards in Harry's arms and grins at Eggsy.

"Well then, let us remedy that, hm?" Harry meets Eggsy's stare and smiles.

Eggsy can practically hear his heart splintering into a thousand shards as the man he loves strides over to him, hugging Daisy and smiling at Eggsy like the world would stop spinning if he were to lose him.

And it would, wouldn't it?

Eggsy grins, shaking out his nerves as he leans forward and allows Daisy to kiss his cheek. “Happy Christmas, ‘Ggsy!”

"Thank you, my flower. Now how's about one for you?" With that, he takes her tiny hand in his and uses it to hold her still as he plants dozens of smacking kisses to her cherubic face as she releases peels of gleaming laughter.

Harry shakes his head, laughing despite himself as Eggsy continues his loving assault on the youngest Unwin, even as she calls his name through her tiny screams of delight. He's smiling at Eggsy like he's hung the moon, and Eggsy doesn't miss it, now that he knows how to see it for what it really is.

It's a sight to see, and everyone in the room seems to have their eyes glued to it, Michelle especially.

She's watching the exchange with her mouth a little agape, her green-blue eyes wide with wonder and her brows pinched up the tiniest bit.

"Alright, boys, that's enough of that. Let's get you out of those coats, hm?" Roxy says suddenly, waving a hand through the air as she comes between the mess and collects Daisy from Harry to set her on the sofa, lightly tapping her nose to rouse a giggle. "Eggsy, why don’t you show Harry where the coats and shoes go? We can set up the tree after dinner." She gives him a significant stare, and Eggsy feels the heat that has risen in his chest fizzle down a bit.

He clears his throat hastily then pats Harry on the arm, the touch lingering a fragment of a second too long to be friendly.

"Good plan, Rox. C'mon, Harry."

"Yes, of course."

"Mum, when's your new fella gonna get here?" Eggsy calls once he and Harry are safely tucked into the hallway, shrugging out of their coats and grounding each other with lingering brushes of their fingers after the initial stress of getting Harry into the house. With all the tension he’s already feeling, Eggsy can only hope for car trouble or something of the sort to keep his mother’s boyfriend at bay. The prospect of meeting him doesn’t make Eggsy nauseous, per se, but he still isn’t thrilled.

Having some fucking stranger in their lives again isn’t exactly something he’s prepared for. Sure, he figured his mum would find someone new eventually, but not so soon. His mind just keeps going through scenario after scenario of having this bloke end up being a fucking prick no better than Dean. His knuckles already sting from the idea of having to beat the man into the pavement.

He wants nothing more than to keep his mum and Daisy safe and happy. And now that he has the means to do so, it leaves him grinding his teeth in an effort to remain calm. "Smells proper good in here, by the way," he adds, taking note of the house's rich, sweet scent. His voice doesn’t quake, and he’s proud of that. He doesn’t want his mum worrying. As far as she’s concerned, Eggsy is completely prepared for the happenings ahead.

And it’s not like it was a lie. The house _does_ smell amazing.

There's cinnamon, most definitely, and the apple of an air freshener. But there’s also the tang and spark of bitter wood on the fireplace, and the delightful, musky whiff of the turkey roasting away in the oven.

"Oh, he's on his way. In fact, he's supposed to be—" Michelle starts, and then the bell sounds out from the front door. "That'll be him. Let me get i—"

" _I'll get it!_ " Eggsy shoots back, and then he's yanking the front door open as he kicks off his other shoe. It thunks under the shoe nook as he leans into the doorframe, and his jaw clicks shut as he stands up taller than he really needs to, giving the man a once-over.

He's holding a poinsettia wrapped in golden printed foil against his chest, a bag of gifts slung over his forearm. The blue collar of his scarf is a brilliant contrast to his olive skin, his sandy hair is a bit of a mess, and his jaw is darkened by scruff. He's slightly shorter and softer than Harry, less toned musculature and more lazily acquired fit.

Eggsy’s brows raise.

As far as first impressions go, he’s not terrible. But then they never are. After all, Dean didn’t look like a complete fucking arsehole the day Eggsy first met him.

"Erm, sorry, do I have the right address?" he asks, and his voice is rather warm and pleasant.

"Are you lookin' for Michelle Unwin?" Eggsy answers his question with a question, and behind him, Harry lets out a rather harsh exhale. A laugh, of course.

The man ducks his head and laughs, and he looks so sincere that Eggsy is now openly searching for something wrong with him. He can’t be this cheerful standing in the snow. No one can. "Yes, I am."

Eggsy gives a curt nod. “Tim,” he says in way of greeting. He glances back over his shoulder to Harry, searching for his reassuring presence.

Harry smiles at him, tipping his head up in encouragement, and Eggsy sucks in a deep breath. He can do this. He can at least try to like this man even the tiniest bit, for his mum’s sake. And if he can’t, he’s got Harry right here for emotional support.

He turns around, ready to usher the newcomer into the house, and frowns at the confused look on his face.

" . . . Jim. Well, Jimmy, I mean, but I go by Jim. It's Jim," he mumbles, then reaches up with his free hand and scratches at the back of his head.

"Christ, bruv. It's my bad! I never remember names, yeah? Tell him, Harry," Eggsy says, reaching up to cuff the back of his own head with his hand.

Harry hums. "You remember mine just fine."

" _Ha ha,_ " Eggsy quips.

"Jimmy? You're right on time, love," Michelle says behind them, and Harry and Eggsy spin round to see her face light up.

"Michelle," Jim sighs airily, and Eggsy's head whips back around to watch the blush creep into his cheeks.

Despite him being obviously smitten with his mum, Eggsy’s still not letting his guard down. Not all the way, anyhow, but he feels like he doesn’t have to stand quite as tall with Jim beaming at his mum the way he is. He just narrows his eyes and watches as Michelle struts up to Jim and cups his cheek.

"I told you, you didn't have to get me nothing," she scolds, but her voice is warm, a tone Eggsy is used to hearing directed only at himself and Daisy. He blinks at her, dumbfounded, and looks back at Jim with his mouth falling open. He’s not sure he remembers the last time his mother talked to _Dean_ that way, with all the time they’d been together. It pinches a few of his nerves, and he feels something akin to betrayal.

He doesn’t know if he should be upset or happy or hurt—he wants to be excited that his mum’s already so comfortable with this bloke, but at the same time, he’s only known him for about two minutes.

"Well, you deserve presents. Besides, they're not all for you." He glances at Eggsy and blushes a little darker. "At any rate, this one is." He lifts up the poinsettia and Michelle positively beams.

Eggsy clears his throat. "Why don't you come on inside then?"

“Jim, this is my son, Eggsy,” Michelle says, turning to tilt her head in Eggsy’s direction while still pressed to Jim’s side.

"Ah yes, Eggsy. I've heard only good things about you. Your mother really adores you," he says, shaking Eggsy's hand. Jim pauses, glancing down and observing Eggsy's apparel. "Lovely jumper."

Eggsy glances down at his red jumper, particularly at the silver and gold reindeer humping each other on his chest between a band of snowflakes.

Harry groans quietly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Cheers," Eggsy teases. At least the man has good taste.

Michelle glances back, observes Eggsy's jumper, and then swats his arm through her loud gasp. "Gary Unwin, you cheeky brat. What the bloody hell are you wearing?"

"It's just a jumper, Mum."

"What is Daisy going to think of that?"

"She can't tell!"

"Eggsy, I told you to dress appropriately!" Roxy's voice calls from the living room with a note of chagrin.

"I did!"

"Daisy?" Jim says suddenly, breaking up the commotion as he enters the house and shakes the snow from his jacket. "My goodness, I'm really looking forward to meeting her."

Eggsy’s gut drops. He’s not so sure he’s really looking forward to this shit at all. With Daisy being as small and impressionable as she is, she’ll not be the best judge of character, and while Dean never outright abused Daisy—Eggsy would have fucking killed him with his bare hands years ago if he tried—he sure as hell never picked her up, neither. And at Daisy’s age, she likes everyone.

Determined, Eggsy squares his jaw and swallows. He said he was going to try, and try he sure as hell will.

"I'm sure she'll love you, Jimmy. You're not to worry," Michelle tells him before turning to Eggsy. “You couldn’t wear something more appropriate? Like green? Just green.”

Eggsy grins. “It’s red. It’s my colour,” he says playfully, tugging on the bottom hem of the jumper.

He catches Harry shaking his head, clearly disagreeing despite really agreeing, and the desire to reach out and lace their fingers together nearly strangles him.

Eggsy could tell his mum right now—could take Harry’s hand and lean into him and just outright say it. He could get it out of the way, could appease the iron, needle-prickled weight in his hollow gut.

“Eggsy, babe, will you take Jim into the living room and introduce him?” Michelle asks, distracting Eggsy from his thoughts.

“Oh, by the way, _this_ is Harry,” Eggsy says, tilting his head towards Harry.

“Oh, your boss. Yes I’ve heard about you,” Jim says. “Nothing good, I’m afraid,” he adds awkwardly.

Harry shakes his head. “Quite alright, Jim. I’m well aware of how Michelle feels about me."

Eggsy bites the inside of his lip and his shoulders draw up, a spike of uncomfortable pinches running up his spine. “It’s not that big a deal, Harry,” he bites under his breath, and Harry lightly touches his arm.

“It’s substantial enough that it can’t go unnoticed,” Harry replies, and Eggsy leans away from his touch and worries his lip with his teeth. He ignores how Harry’s hand clenches to a fist before it’s tucked into his trouser pocket.

“Anyways, let’s get on with this, yeah?” Eggsy says, and he slips past Harry and leads them into the living room.

He scoops Daisy into his arms, hugging her to his chest. He knows she’s getting a bit big for this, but he will continue to pick up and coddle his baby sister until she tells him to stop, thanks much. Matter of fact, he really wishes he could carry her upstairs and sit in her room with her for the rest of the day. Mostly, he’s just still unsure about whether or not Jim really deserves this. What if a week down the road, he’s telling his mum what to do? What if not long after, he’s hitting her?

He hugs Daisy tighter, tilts his shoulders to shield her from the rest of the room—but mostly from Jim. He wants so badly to believe in the good of people. But he’s seen and heard it all before, and no matter how brightly the man smiles, it could change in an instant. But now, Eggsy isn’t the vulnerable little boy who had to kneel in alleyways and take black eyes to protect his family. Now he’s a Kingsman. Now, Eggsy would kill him.

Nevertheless, he returns to the task at hand with the full intention of giving this bloke a chance. If nothing else, for his mum’s happiness.

“Daisy, this is Jim,” Eggsy tells his sister, turning her so that she can observe the newcomer at a slight distance while he stands beside the settee. “He’s gonna be very nice to you. And you know, big bruv wouldn’t say that if he wasn’t, yeah?”

“Yes, ‘Ggsy,” she nods, curls falling into her face as she peers at Jim.

Jim is nearly bouncing on his toes from anticipation, fussing with the hem of his jumper. But Daisy waves at him, and he releases a grateful sigh, his cheeks tinting pink as his shoulders drop an invisible weight.

“Hello, Daisy,” he breathes, and he closes the space between them after Eggsy gives him a tiny nod. “It’s lovely to meet you, beautiful,” Jim says, and he reaches out and tugs gingerly on one perfect golden curl.

Daisy giggles and turns in Eggsy’s arms, taking Jim’s wrist in both hands. Daisy turns his hand over and tugs, and Jim lets it go graciously, watching with a rapt smile as Daisy makes her best attempt at shaking his hand.

“We’ll work on that later,” Eggsy laughs.

Jim’s smile broadens. “At least she didn’t chew on it,” he jokes. “I’m a paediatrician, you know—children gnawing on me all hours of the day.”

“I’m surprised you’re still in one piece,” Harry says.

“Oh, I’m very resilient,” Jim retorts, and grins at Daisy as she continues to enthusiastically shake his hand.

“Eggsy used to bite at my ankles,” Michelle says from the doorway, and all eyes turn to her. Eggsy gives her a stupid face in response, to which she just laughs. Then she’s looking at Daisy, shaking Jim’s hand, and she’s smiling so brightly.

Eggsy doesn’t think he’s seen her smile that pretty since the day _he_ went to the Black Prince and did a nasty number on Dean and his boys in memory of Harry. At that time, she was caught up in the brilliant joy of a new beginning.

Bouncing his sister lightly in his arms, Eggsy looks up at Jim, whose full attention is now on Michelle. He thinks, maybe, this is one of those moments again. And the way he smiled at Daisy before? That weren’t half bad, neither.

“For real though, Daisy, don’t chew on people. You’s gettin’ to be a real lady, and ladies don’t chew on people,” he tells her matter of factly, and she releases Jim’s hand in favour of turning her face into his neck, gripping his jumper.

“But I didn't, ‘Ggsy,” she huffs, and Eggsy grins, bouncing her.

“Eggsy, you said yourself—she’s becoming a real lady. Put her down,” his mum says, and Eggsy squishes Daisy tighter to his chest.

“No.”

“Eggsy.”

“In a min,” he grumbles, and Daisy laughs and butts her head against his chin.

Sighing, Michelle waves it off. “Food’s ready, if everyone else is,” she tells them, and Jake is the first one to spring up and bounce on his heels, bits and pieces of construction paper flying about him. At the announcement of food, however, Daisy insists on being put down, and she takes Roxy’s hand as everyone files out of the living room.

Harry nods at Eggsy lightly, inclining his chin towards the dining room. “Shall we?”

Eggsy takes a step forward, peeking his head down the hall to make sure everybody else in the house is in the dining room or kitchen. Then he turns on his heel and grabs the front of Harry's cardigan. He glances down at the silver buttons peeking through the emerald fabric, delicately stamped with snowflakes. Fuck Harry for being perfect, and even more so for being adorable.

Harry doesn’t protest, just reaches his hand out and curves it against Eggsy’s hip and ducks his head for a kiss as Eggsy presses them together seamlessly.

It’s fast, soft, and light, and it leaves both of them tingling all over.

“We shall,” Eggsy says softly, lips still brushing against Harry's, and he feels like nothing could be better than this.

When he pulls back, Harry's eye is closed, and he's smiling so softly that Eggsy's breath gets trapped in his chest. He’s crushed by his adoration for Harry—the severity, the depth, the strength of it. It’s a welcome weight, and he nuzzles his head up against Harry's chin before swivelling on his heel and heading for the dining room.

Harry's eye flutters open and he sighs blissfully, his hand now flexing around the empty air where Eggsy's hip had been.

"Darling boy," he murmurs, and then follows Eggsy into the comfortable clamour of the dining room.

**

After Christmas dinner, which was surprisingly closer to enjoyable rather than merely bearable, everyone exchanges gifts before gathering in the living room to watch the Queen’s speech. They spend a few hours playing board games and charades, and Eggsy even goes so far as to put on the _Doctor Who_ Christmas special even though he’s hated the bloody show since Russell T. Davies left. When it’s time to decorate the tree, Harry pulls out the package of fairy lights, and Roxy—being the only one slight enough to do so—slips around behind the tree and passes the strand to Eggsy back and forth, until it’s wrapped around the tree from bottom to top.

“We ready?” Eggsy asks, and he looks over at Harry, waiting by the light switch. He nods, smiling at Eggsy warmly just before he flicks the lights off and closes the curtains.

Roxy slides her phone screen up and shines the flashlight down on the end of the strand of lights, the cord dangling. “I think we’re ready,” she says, and Eggsy kneels down and plugs the outlet in.

The tree sparkles to life, little white stars blinking in the depths of the tree, and everybody gives an excited cheer—though none so spectacularly as Daisy. She flails her arms enthusiastically from her seat on the floor, bouncing with the brightest grin on her face.

Carol then—and if it isn’t finally—tells Michelle she’ll be on her way (and back for Boxing Day lunch, of course) before she’s escorted from the house by Michelle and Jim.

For a split second, Harry and Eggsy make eye contact in the dim room, lit only by the fire and the brilliant glow of the little tree. They smile at each other, and Eggsy can barely breathe.

The intimacy seems to swell in the dark lighting, and there’s a sudden coil of need twisting up in Eggsy’s belly, so tight and warm, he almost mistakes it for arousal. But this is something much more—so incredibly strong, it nearly drowns out Roxy and Daisy’s very existence as Harry leans against the door frame and smiles at him, one hand in the pocket of his trousers.

A thought crosses Eggsy’s mind, that he could take the few quick steps across the room to steal another kiss from Harry while they’re in the appropriate company. He quickly abandons the idea  when his mother returns and claps her hands enthusiastically.

“Right then. On to decorating, before the little madam gets too sleepy,” she says teasingly, and Eggsy laughs, hoisting Daisy up into his arms. He does his best to make sure she thinks she’s running the show as Roxy hands them baubles for hanging.

Harry watches with rapt attention, the comfortable hum of JB’s snoring buzzing against his leg as he scratches crop circles absently into his fur. The record is playing _Oh, Christmas Tree_ , as if this entire scene weren’t already beautiful to the point of being cliché with just Eggsy’s face lit up by the glow of fairy lights.

Jim takes a long sip of mulled wine. “If _that’s_ not a perfect picture,” he says to Harry, gazing at the entire scene.

Harry nods and makes a noise of approval, not taking his eyes off of Eggsy. “Indeed it is, Jim.”

The moment is broken by a quiet chirping sound, and Eggsy’s eyes jerk to Harry, half expecting it to be Merlin with an alert that the Germans have sent off nukes somewhere.

But it turns out to be Roxy, and she slips her phone out of her handbag. “Well, it’s getting late, love. I’d better be heading out,” she says, glancing down at her phone before she shoots off a quick text.

Eggsy furrows his brows, then rises onto his toes and very casually steals a glance at Roxy's phone screen. His brows shoot up. “ _Merlin?_ So _that’s_ why he weren’t gonna be at Harry’s.”

She sighs.

Michelle cups both of her shoulders and tugs Roxy close. “Might that be your boyfriend, love?”

When they finally manage to free Roxy of Michelle’s enthusiasm, Eggsy slips on his coat, and Roxy huddles up against his chest while her car warms. He thinks maybe he should say something, maybe some words of encouragement, but Roxy just nuzzles up to him and says she’ll text him later.

Eggsy stands on the snowy pavement for several minutes after Roxy’s tail lights have faded. He feels an odd sense of nostalgia with the lights all blurry under the snowfall, the street practically abandoned, like a memory he can’t quite place. He swears he hasn’t felt this bloody peaceful in a long, long time.

A warmth presses sure and solid against his back, and Eggsy leans into it without hesitation. “Your mother is waiting, you know. I do believe she doesn’t know I’m meant to spend the night,” Harry says, wrapping an arm around Eggsy’s waist, nuzzling his nose into the warmth of his neck. “So, am I to leave?”

Eggsy’s stomach drops, a cold pressure climbing up his throat. “No. What the fuck made you think that?” He turns his head so he can look up at Harry with narrowed eyes. “You’re stayin’ with me. It’s fuckin’ Christmas, Harry.”

“Whether it’s Christmas or not, this feels a tad intrusive, darling,” Harry sighs, his breath fogging across Eggsy’s shoulder.

Eggsy bristles. “I couldn’t care fuckin’ less about being intrusive. You’re not leaving me tonight—not when we’ve come this far.”

“Have you mentioned to your mother even once that I was supposed to stay?”

“Would it matter to you at all if I had mentioned it fuckin’ _twice?_ ”

“Eggsy,” Harry says sternly. “Don’t do this—don’t be upset with me. It seems unfair that you’re asking so much of her.”

“Wouldn’t be unfair if she knew what you were to me.”

“Well, your reluctance to tell her has lead me to believe you don’t plan on doing so,” Harry replies, and Eggsy grinds his teeth and tilts his jaw defiantly.

“But _you_ don’t plan on me tellin’ her, neither,” he growls, and it’s the truth.

“It’s not a dire requirement at the current time,” Harry retorts. “No more arguing, Eggsy. I told you earlier, I . . . ” He trails off, stuck without the right words. “I am happy. I am _happy_ just to be here with you. Is that not enough?”

“Not for me,” Eggsy snaps instantly, honestly, and turns back away from Harry with an indignant huff.

“You _are_ the one who said you were unsure, Eggsy . . . ” Harry says softly, sounding almost  hurt.

“Bein’ unsure and bein’ happy without it are two different things,” Eggsy sighs. Sure he has Harry with him, and Harry says he’s happy. But he’s starting to realise that it’s nowhere near enough, and Eggsy is so, _so_ scared. If he can’t tell his mother, he can’t be happy, and if he can’t be alright with _not_ telling her, then he’ll never be able to give Harry all of him, or the life he wants. He told Merlin himself, and he meant it; he wants a life for them outside of Kingsman. He’s just unsure how to get it.

Several beats of silence stretch between them before Harry wraps his arms a bit tighter around Eggsy’s waist, tugs him a bit closer. “Darling, I . . . my sweet boy—I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well . . . ” Eggsy wants to say he’s not forgiven, that he’s still bitter about the whole thing. But Harry buries his nose in his hair, kisses the back of his neck, and mutters the words a few more times.

And Eggsy bites his lip as Harry crushes him tighter in his arms. He melts backwards into the contact as his sudden flare of anger grows weaker. “You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s like Harry’s touch could melt any and all of his cares away. He can’t stay mad at Harry—but god damn him, he wishes he could.

“Yes, and you’re quite cold,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the curve of Eggsy’s neck. “We should go back inside,” he adds, a bit more softly, kissing Eggsy again.

“Just gimme a minute, yeah? I just need one more minute like this,” Eggsy murmurs, leaning his weight into Harry, trusting him to hold him without fail. Harry hugs him impossibly tighter, and it’s suddenly so quiet, so warm with Harry there. Like the sun.

“Better?”

“Better than better,” Eggsy replies, turning in Harry’s embrace and sliding a hand up to curl his fingers through the fine hairs at Harry’s nape. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Think nothing of it, darling,” is his reply, and Harry dips his head to capture Eggsy’s lips in a kiss as warm as fire compared to the frosted world around them.

The world goes fuzzy, and Eggsy honestly doesn’t even notice when Harry pulls back, eyes fluttering open to find him smiling down at him so sweetly it hurts a bit.

“I love you,” Eggsy blurts, breath a huff of fog that curls in the space between them.

Harry’s smile just broadens, and the arms curled around Eggsy’s waist squeeze him just a bit tighter before Harry releases him in favour of taking Eggsy’s hand, turning it palm up to kiss the shards of pale scarring. “I know.”

**

“Quiet in here, innit?” Eggsy mutters as he pads down the hallway.

“Daisy fell asleep while you were outside. Of course, only after your mother helped her set a plate of carrots for the reindeer and minced pies and mulled wine for Father Christmas by the fire. Apparently, they forgot to do it last night,” Harry explains, and Eggsy peeks into the living room to find Daisy curled up on the sofa under a few blankets, Michelle and Jim talking quietly by the tree. His hand is on the small of Michelle’s back, feather-light, and he’s smiling at her while she’s smiling at the tree.

Eggsy grins broadly. “Not a half-bad bloke, I guess. He seems fine enough.”

“And if he didn’t?”

“Oh, I have methods now, Harry. I have a skillset, and I would use it on him.”

Harry frowns deeply when Eggsy smirks up at him. “Kingsman training is not to be used to chase off your mother’s suitors.”

“This comin’ from the man who promised to kill my arsehole of an ex-stepdad?” he whispers back.

He can see the twitch in Harry’s jaw, the flex that rides down his arm and forces his fist to clench. “A completely different matter entirely, my love.” He looks Eggsy from head to toe. “Arthur or not, I will destroy, without hesitation, anyone who harms you. Then I’ll answer to myself.”

Eggsy swallows hard, desire heating the space behind his ribs. Harry should never be allowed to assert his dominant side anywhere but the bedroom—it makes him feel too safe, too protected, like someone dropping a heavy, warm blanket over him. He can’t handle the way it renders him nearly unable to function, overpowered by the need to be folded up in Harry’s arms, burying his face into the safe crook of his neck. “Good thing I like him then, innit? Or I’d be answering to Arthur the morning after.”

“I should expect so,” Harry says softly, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Eggsy’s jawline, down the slope of his throat. And there’s nothing Eggsy wants more than to kiss Harry, right now.

When Eggsy shifts on his feet to fight off the shudder Harry’s touch induces, the floorboard creaks, and Jim and Michelle side-step away from each other, turning towards the doorway.

Eggsy snaps ramrod straight, clapping his now clammy hands together. “Mum, er, you know how on the news it said it was gonna freeze up tonight?” he manages slowly.

Michelle tips her head up and nods. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. It’s supposed to snow more, too.”

“Well, Harry and I drove here together in my car . . . and it’s late and cold outside, so, er . . . can he spend the night here?” Eggsy blurts out the last bit swiftly, as if saying it fast enough could confuse his mother into not asking questions.

So, naturally, only questions come out. “What? Wait, _why_? Why didn’t he drive here?”

Eggsy reaches up and rakes a hand through his hair. “I dunno, I was trying to be gracious and give him a lift, like a gentleman.”

“Can’t he take the car home by himself then? Like a gentleman?” Michelle says evenly, but the set of her jaw and the glint in her green eyes is visible evidence of the growing storm.

“I mean, I don’t see why he can’t just stay.” Eggsy shrugs.

“I already find it incredibly inappropriate that your boss came over for Christmas dinner, _let alone_ for him to spend the night,” Michelle says, voice still soft, though growing sterner.

Harry tilts his head forward and clears his throat. “Of course, I don’t have to stay. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience—”

“ _No_ —how is it a fuckin’ inconvenience?” Eggsy tosses out suddenly.

“Eggsy,” his mother says sharply, looking between him and Harry.

Eggsy’s jaw tenses, and he wants to tell her again, wants to throw the truth at her feet. He wants to say that Harry has to stay because he’s Eggsy’s; he’s family; he can’t go home alone. Instead, he remains collected and grumbles, “You just don’t want him staying because you don’t like him.”

Harry presses his hand to the small of Eggsy’s back. “Eggsy,” he warns.

“It’s not _that_ , babe—” she starts, but before she can continue, Jim wraps his arm around her and whispers something that distracts her.

Eggsy takes the chance to turn to Harry, who is frowning deeply. “Maybe this was a step over the line. I don’t want you causing your mother stress and grief over me,” he tells Eggsy, the sadness he’s feeling pinching the edges of his expression.

While Jim and Michelle are arguing in the background, Eggsy wheels around and takes a fistful of Harry’s cardigan. “If not you, then who? For fuck’s sake, Harry, you’re my—”

“Eggsy, that’s enough.”

“ _Why?”_

Eggsy feels nauseous. Harry’s right—he’s causing his mother grief. But he doesn’t seem to realise that Eggsy is doing it _for_ him. Harry _has_ to see this. He _has_ to understand. Harry comes first, no matter what, and he’s just not getting it.

“Why?” Eggsy growls through his teeth. “You’re worth this to me.”

A roll of one whiskey-coloured eye is the only response Harry can manage before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“ _Harry, damn it._ ”

“I’d really rather prefer it if you dropped the subject, Eggsy.”

“And I’d really _rather prefer_ I not have to keep you a fuckin’ secret.”

“This is no easier for me than it is for you,” Harry nearly hisses, his jaw clenching.

Eggsy makes a heavy noise of exasperation. “Yeah, you seem _well_ bovvered, don’t you?”

“Is that sarcasm I sense in your tone?”

“You’s about to be sensin’ somethin’ else if you try and tell me you’re not stayin’ with me.”

And then Jim clears his throat.

“Erm . . . if I may, gentlemen?” he says. When they both turn to look at him, he has Michelle tucked against his side with one arm, and she’s gazing up at him with a most endearing pout, one heavily resembling Eggsy’s. “Seeing as it’s Christmas, we wouldn’t want to send Harry home alone in the cold. Besides, it’s just one night.”

Eggsy blinks, mouth falling open.

Jim, Eggsy decides, is a fucking angel. “Mum? Is that alright?” Eggsy asks, watching the way Jim’s thumb brushes arches over her arm, the tiny tilt of her head as she sighs.

She glances over at Eggsy and pauses. The desperation in his chest must be rising to show on his face, because his expression makes her brows furrow. She sighs quietly before she smiles. “It’s alright, babe.”

**

“Eggsy, I was rather wondering . . . why such a big house for your mother?” Harry asks, removing the decorative pillows from the guest bed as Eggsy begins work unfolding the extra quilt. It makes him pause, thumb running over a stitch before he turns to look at Harry, who is still busying himself with finding an appropriate place to stack the discarded pillows. “I’m sure you’re well aware that Kingsman offers a variety of flats, most of which would have been more suitable for a single mother and a young child. And the upstairs? The guest bedroom? I’m sure you just wanted them to have the space, but—” Harry pauses, having looked up to see the unsettlingly forlorn look on Eggsy’s face. “Darling?”

“That weren’t exactly how it went down,” Eggsy murmurs, fussing with the quilt to keep his hands busy.

“How do you mean?”

“Well . . . originally, this was gonna be my room,” he explains, tipping his head to gesture to the space around them.

Harry arches a brow at him curiously.

Eggsy plops down on the foot of the bed. “I was gonna live here, with Mum and Daisy. But then Merlin let slip they was gonna clear out your house, just fuckin’ toss it all away, and I couldn’t . . . ” Eggsy presses his lips to a fine line, pinching at the stitched seam of the quilt. “You know how fuckin’ well _that_ sat with me.” He shakes his head firmly. “Nobody was gonna just fuckin’ come in and make it like you was never here. I wouldn’t let ‘em, Harry.” He looks up at Harry, meeting his gaze as he steps around the bed to stand over Eggsy.

“Time and time again, I learn of all the things you have done for my sake . . . time and time again, you have proven that I truly do not deserve you,” Harry breathes, cupping Eggsy’s jaw and brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. Eggsy’s breath is warm, wet, and drugging. It would be so easy for Harry to lean forward and take what is rightfully his. “Whatever am I to do with you, my love?”

Eggsy swallows around the lump in his throat. “I think you’re doin’ just fine,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the pad of Harry’s thumb. “But, clearly, you have a lot of catchin’ up to do . . . if you wanna be deservin’ and all.”

“That I have,” Harry replies.

 _So easy_.

Before he can dip forward and claim Eggsy’s smart, beautiful mouth, the stairs creak, and suddenly they’re so far apart from each other that no one would know they had been just moments away from losing their own separate selves.

“So, erm . . . if you need anythin’, I’m just downstairs, yeah?” Eggsy says from the doorway, a little louder than necessary.

Harry beams at him and nods. “Much appreciated, Eggsy.”

Then Eggsy is alone in the living room, the crackle of the fire and JB’s grumpy snores his only company. He makes himself a nest of blankets on the carpet in front of the sofa, close enough to brush his fingers through Daisy’s hair and hum to her softly when she stirs.

If he falls asleep, Eggsy doesn’t know it. The room is a glow of firelight and tree sparkles, cut with shadows and shade.

He thinks of Harry, of how desperately he wanted to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, sit just a bit closer to him all evening. He thinks of his mum, how she seemed civil. Nearly pleasant, even, at least for the first part of the afternoon. Maybe telling her wouldn't be so bad.

But then he thinks of how swiftly his mum’s mood had shifted at the prospect of Harry spending the night. If only he could have had the courage to say what Harry is to him right then . . . sure, his mum might have kicked them (or Harry) out, but they would have gone home together, and that means more to Eggsy than anything.

_I’m simply happy to be by your side._

It makes Eggsy a little nauseous, those words combined in that order. It takes him forever to swallow their taste down until he’s left with the burning question of _how?_ How can Harry be content? Why is it so easy for him? How can he be _alright_ with hiding?

Eggsy lies flat on the floor, then rolls onto one side, then the other. He watches the flames paint pictures, dancing on the logs. And it goes on like that for hours, and hours . . .

**

Harry is a very light sleeper. This is not by choice, of course. With all his Kingsman training, in the past few decades he has only ever slept deeply and heavily twice: when he had the flu, and the first night he made love to Eggsy. Comas and serious head wounds do not count.

Harry has woken up to every police siren, neighbourhood dog bark, and rubbish collector rolling down the way ever since the night he woke up to a room flooding with water.

Given that fact, it’s easy enough to hear it even in his sleep, and it immediately rouses him to awareness. There’s the tiny rustle of carpet, and then the _stick_ of a door being closed quietly. Too quietly.

“Go back downstairs and go back to sleep,” he says, and in response, the bed dips on one side.

Harry tilts his head and opens his eye, cutting through the dimness, darker than that of his own room. But it’s not dark enough to seal Eggsy’s smiling face away from him as he lounges across the edge of the bed, propped up on one arm, the hand of which is nestled dangerously close to Harry’s hip. The muscles of his bicep are tense, drawing attention to the freckles and beauty marks there.

He’s a little rumpled, like he’s been rolling this way and that on the floor, his shirt dipping down around his throat, hair sticking up wildly. And his eyes are so brilliant in the dark, Harry half believes he could be dreaming this.

“I wanted to see you,” Eggsy whispers, and he reaches over his lap and cards his fingers through Harry’s dark, soft hair.

Harry leans into the touch reflexively, closing his eye and exhaling heavily through his nose. “You left Daisy unattended for the sake of seeing this boring old face?” he murmurs, hesitant to climb through the cobwebs of sleep. After all, Eggsy’s fingers raking through  his hair are enough to have Harry boneless against the mattress.

“She’s out like a light,” Eggsy says, pausing to run his fingertips down from Harry’s temple to his jaw, brushing his lips in a featherlight touch. “And your face is far from old and boring, love.”

Harry lifts his hand and takes Eggsy’s wrist in his grasp gently, pressing half-awake kisses to his fingertips. “You’d leave her to wake alone in the night?”

“JB’s down there,” is his reply, and Harry peeks up at him. Eggsy smiles, but something sad lingers in his gaze, a tiny flicker in the dim light that pulls his shoulders down and has the light in his eyes a bit distracted.

Harry’s brow pinches, a tiny twist rolling over in his gut. “Darling?” he says softly, brushing his thumb in an arch over the back of Eggsy’s wrist.

Eggsy parts his lips, and for a long moment, no sound comes out. Not even breath, like it’s trapped in his throat. “ . . . I can’t sleep,” he says finally, glancing down at his wrist in Harry’s grasp. He easily slips out of Harry’s grip in favour of pressing their hands together. Not lacing their fingers, just playing with the touch of fingertips and palms.

Harry runs his gaze from Eggsy’s exposed clavicle down to his stomach, watching the slight quiver of muscle beneath his shirt. “Tell me, Eggsy,” he says, and Eggsy sits up a little bit straighter at that.

He licks his lips, shaking his head lightly. He starts breathing more easily, grounded by the warmth of Harry’s body and the feel of his pulse beneath his fingertips. “I just . . . I’m so used to havin’ you next to me. It’s like I need it to breathe now. I blinked in and out of it for a bit, but I can’t sleep.” He shakes his head solemnly, running his fingertips down Harry’s open palm. “I just can’t . . . ” Eggsy shakes his head again. “No night terrors, though. I just feel sort of . . . empty.”

Harry nods, then shifts against the mattress, rolling onto his side as he lifts the duvet. “Come here, my darling,” he says, and Eggsy is crawling into the bed before he has to be told twice. He slides under the covers, curling his arms against his chest as he presses his body against Harry’s as close as he can.

Harry covers them both with the duvet before wrapping Eggsy in his arms.

It’s that easy. Just like that, Eggsy’s anxiety dies down, his limbs go limp, and his heartbeat steadies out. He feels like he could fall into slumber instantly. He tangles their legs together, presses his face into the hollow of Harry’s throat, and just _breathes_. Harry begins to card his fingers through Eggsy’s hair with the arm crowned round his head, adding to his drowsiness.

Harry smells like fucking paradise: the sweet, familiar musk of his cologne lingering on the back of his jaw, on his dangerously soft sleep shirt, and Eggsy burrows into his chest, the broad wall of Harry’s shoulders sheltering him from the world.

Eggsy makes a soft, purring noise of contentment, and Harry cups the back of his neck and squeezes lightly. “You can’t stay . . . ”

“I won’t. Set an alarm or somethin’. We gotta get up early in the morning, anyways,” Eggsy nearly slurs, starting to fall under.

There is nowhere that he belongs in the world if not curled safely in Harry Hart’s arms, limbs tangled, breath slow, heartbeats one. There is nowhere he needs to be if not here—safe, loved, Harry’s.

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Harry chides. But even as he scolds, he’s brushing his fingertips up and down Eggsy’s back and scratching his scalp, which, as Harry very well knows, is enough to drop Eggsy to the ground.

Eggsy shakes his head. “Don’t make me leave . . . I’m just so tired, Harry. Just let me sleep.”

“You have been spoilt. How could I have been so blind? To always give you what you want.” Harry sighs, kissing the top of Eggsy’s hair, and it most definitely sounds like defeat on Harry’s part. "I've created a monster."

Eggsy grins, world gone honeyed behind his closed lids. When he exhales, he can feel the closeness of Harry’s pulse, the strength of it so close he could taste it. A kiss to that perfect throat earns him a tiny tug of his hair. “Be good,” Harry whispers, and Eggsy shivers, unfolding one of his arms to wrap it around Harry’s waist, a leg over Harry’s hip, to draw himself that much closer.

“I am,” he replies, sighing as he kisses Harry’s neck again, letting his hand ride up the perfect slope of Harry’s spine, raking his fingers over his strong shoulder blade before threading them into Harry’s hair. “Not tryin’ to get off or nothin’ . . . I just need to hold you.”

“I may not be in the state to resist you if you tried, this late at night,” Harry admits, kissing along Eggsy’s shoulder where the collar of his shirt has ridden down, brushing fingertips over the smattering of beauty marks on his arms.

Eggsy drops his head back against the pillow, exposing the column of his neck, and Harry’s attention is instantly there, undivided, peppering burning kisses along Eggsy’s throat, nuzzling into the hollow above his collar bone. His mouth, drawn like a magnet, passes over Eggsy’s beauty mark, and a tiny flick of the tongue sets Eggsy’s skin on fire before Harry kisses it. All the while, his hand paints abstract pictures across Eggsy’s back, raising chills in the wake of his fingertips, leaving Eggsy helpless to do other than cling to him.

Under the heavy weight of Harry’s undivided affection, Eggsy goes boneless, fingers grasping weakly at the cotton of Harry’s shirt, head lolling against the pillow. Harry’s scent is all Eggsy can take in with each breath, and he can feel with wild acuteness every nerve that Harry touches through his skin, with fingers, lips, everything.

He knows, _he knows_ Harry loves him. He can feel it in all these tiny, intimate touches, can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. But there’s still so much reluctance at times, something almost fearful in Harry’s posture, his gaze.

He sees it in the way Harry looks at him, the strained smiles, as if he’s waiting for Eggsy to wake up from a dream; in the way he’ll wait for Eggsy to kiss him first, his hands soft on Eggsy’s hips, as if he could break him from touching him too harshly; in the constant gentle touches to the back of Eggsy’s neck or hand, as if to reassure himself that Eggsy is still there. There are dozens of reasons for it, Eggsy’s sure. Harry always has a lot on his mind . . . but one thing worries him more than anything else.

But it can’t be that, and there’s no need to get Harry worked up by saying anything on the matter. Still, he thinks about it, as Harry’s fingers brush absently through his hair, across his skin.

Eggsy knows exactly what he is—and what he used to be. Harry might have plucked him from the streets, polished him up a bit, but he’s still not the kind of person a man like Harry would ever—and the word makes him nauseous— _settle_ for. He knows Harry loves him. But he also knows he’s not the golden prince Harry makes him out to be.

And Eggsy can’t go on not knowing whether his feelings are founded, because wondering will keep him awake all night.

“Harry,” he whispers against his neck, after a long void of silence has stretched between them.

“Yes, darling boy?”

He chews on his lip, tugs on the fabric of Harry’s pyjama shirt with weighted hands. “Are you ashamed of bein’ with me?” he mutters on a winded breath.

Harry leans back, and before Eggsy can turn his face away, his jaw is being held in a strong, gun-calloused hand.

“What’s this all of a sudden?” Harry asks, and the hurt in his voice is too much for the tightly wound springs in Eggsy’s heart to take.

“Why don’t you want me to tell people? My mum—why are you alright with her not knowin’? You said you’re happy by my side, but just havin’ you by my side . . . ” He trails off, already afraid that he sounds greedy, ungrateful, and heartless.

Harry touches him gently, encouraging him to go on.

Eggsy sighs. “That ain’t good enough for me. I want . . . I want to hold your hand in public. I want people to know you’re mine. I want you to be part of my family.”

“Eggsy, you’re young. You’re very exuberant and easily offended.”

He makes move to sit up sharply, snapping, “I am not,” under his breath.

Harry smiles, shaking his head. “But you are, my bold brass. You needn’t overthink these things . . . while it would bring me great joy for your family and friends to accept me, I don’t have to have that to be happy with you in my arms. You, here, just like this . . . it’s much more than I deserve as it is.”

There’s a terrible light in Harry’s eyes, dim compared to his usual fire, and Eggsy catches it. He catches the way that, even lying down, Harry shrinks in on himself, hunching his shoulders, lowering his gaze. He catches the shallow edge of his deep breathing, the tired way it drags on and on . . .

He’s heard that before.

That night that feels a hundred years past, when Harry told Eggsy he didn’t deserve him. He hears the timid rush of his voice, the complete lack of faith, the sheer disbelief that Harry had in himself, in the possibility of Eggsy loving him.

And it dawns on Eggsy that Harry really, truly still feels like he is unworthy of Eggsy’s love. He feels unbefitting, not good enough . . . he isn’t ashamed of Eggsy. He’s ashamed of himself.

Eggsy shakes his head. There is nothing in this world that Harry should be ashamed of. “You deserve more,” he whispers tiredly.

“I have you. That’s more than enough,” Harry says, and kisses Eggsy’s forehead.

“I love you. So very much.”

“And I you, darling. Deeply so,” Harry replies.

Eggsy means to say something else, swears the words are gathered on the tip of his tongue, but he falls asleep before he can expel them. And his slumber is deep and warm and safe.

**

There's a loud crackle, one strong enough to make JB snort loudly through his slumber, and Eggsy flinches awake. His awareness is fuzzy and warm at first, true alertness just out of reach.

He blinks a few times, recognising his surroundings as the living room downstairs, the fire recently fed.

That grabs his attention, and he realises he's on the floor in his bundle of blankets, toes to the fire, warm all over.

Then Eggsy looks at the tree, still lit up and lovely in the barely-rising sunlight, and he jolts upright.

The minced pies, mulled wine, and carrots on the decorative plate by the hearth are gone. A few extra presents have been left under the tree for Daisy, to add to the effect.

"Well done, Santa," he says playfully, and a wet snort in the back of his neck steals his attention.

He tilts his head until JB’s face is level with his own and grins. The pug is sprawled across Daisy's little legs, and she is, miraculously, still sleeping soundly on the couch.

"Good boy," Eggsy says, reaching up to scratch behind those floppy, black ears. As awake as is necessary, and still rather confused about how he ended up downstairs, Eggsy stretches before climbing out of his nest.

It's hardly a surprise that his body feels amazing and not in the least sore. Sleeping in Harry’s arms tends to leave him far from irritable, yet he’s incredibly confused about why he’s no longer nestled in those arms in the bed upstairs.

Eggsy takes a moment to admire the tree before he scuttles over on his hands and knees and plucks a present out from under the armchair, tucking it carefully against the small of his back.

Eggsy prowls through the house on quiet feet, up the stairs without making a single floorboard squeak. When he gets to the guest room, he drums his fingers timidly against the wood.

“Up already?” Harry asks, and Eggsy lets himself into the room. “I just barely put you down.”

Eggsy shakes the box lightly behind his back, and Harry looks up from his laptop, gaze raking over Eggsy in a languid, dangerous manner. “Don’t you look stunning,” he breathes.

Snorting, Eggsy leans his back up against the door. “If I looked so lovely, why’d you toss my arse on the floor downstairs?”

“It seemed that your mother was stirring down the hall, so I carried you downstairs and tucked you in,” Harry tells him, and Eggsy blinks at him. “You don’t remember? You woke up grumping about it and clung to me like some kind of marsupial.”

Eggsy looks up at the ceiling, and, yes, perhaps he has a vague memory of waking up in the dark, blue light of dawn, Harry telling him to throw his arms around his neck before the warmth of the bed was gone from his back. “Hmph.”

“What’s that you have there?” Harry asks, breaking Eggsy from his reverie.

“Huh?”

“Behind your back, darling,” Harry sighs, clicking off on something before slipping his laptop shut.

Eggsy moves the wrapped present to his lap before sitting down on the foot of the bed beside him. Dark brows furrowed, Harry runs a finger absently over the edge of the box.

Eggsy grins at Harry. “I want you to open it.”

Harry’s brows raise in curiosity. “Now?”

Eggsy nods. “Yeah, right now. I wanna see your reaction—not the fake one you would’ve had to put up in front of the others yesterday, neither.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers down Harry’s bare arm, a startling sight, and one that leaves his stomach quivering.

Understanding, and touched beyond measure, Harry smiles at him, lifting his hand to curl his fingers against Eggsy’s cheek before cupping his jaw. “Darling boy,” he sighs, and Eggsy closes his eyes and leans his face into the touch. Harry’s smile broadens, and he leans forward and brushes his lips against Eggsy’s cheekbone.

Then he removes the gift from Eggsy’s lap, setting it in his own while Eggsy fumbles for coherent thought.

Harry smirks.

“You got no idea what you do to me, you know that?” Eggsy grumbles as Harry gently unties the ribbon.

When the gift is free from the confines of the wrapping paper, and the lid removed, Harry gasps.

Eggsy jumps. “Is that a good sound?”

Harry laughs, or rather, he really means to, but it comes out as a breathy huff.

“Harry?”

In way of response, Harry reaches into the box and runs his fingers over the glass pane. “This is . . . this is a Queen Alexandra’s Birdwing.” He sighs, reverent, staring down at the butterfly caged in glass before him.

Eggsy nods. “A female. Heard they was endangered.”

“Rather.”

“Well, got lucky with this one. Made a friend a while back in China with connections in New Guinea.”

Harry turns and looks at Eggsy in dazzled surprise. “Your trip? After Budapest?”

He tips his head down to the butterfly. “Was for her. She was old. Knew you didn’t have one of these in your collection, mostly ‘cause of the endangered thing,” Eggsy says, reaching out to touch the glass himself, running his fingertips over the smooth African blackwood frame. “But the contact was such a sweet girl. She let me see all of these butterflies, and sprayed me with sugar water, and I went in this big fuckin’ glass room, and they was all over me—like fuckin’ _all_ over me. It was fuckin’ _sick_ , Harry. Like fuckin’ heaven or summat.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head as he sets the Queen aside and is surprised to find another frame, this one holding a blue butterfly the size of his fingernail.

“Ah!” Eggsy grins, then taps the glass. “That’s the Western Pygmy Blue,” he says with pride, then goes off on a tangent about the butterflies as a species, more _fuckin’ well sick_ facts he’s learned on his trip.

Eggsy’s rambling, while endearing, sweet, and very enthusiastic, is cut off when Harry grabs him by the back of the neck and drags him in for a breath-stealing, mind-melting kiss.

Harry pulls back after what feels like a decade, and Eggsy sighs against those silken lips. “It’s bad enough you are completely, utterly mine. Must you spoil me so terribly, my precious boy?”

“Ain’t that what I’m s’posed to do?” Eggsy pants.

“No. No, it’s my duty to spoil you,” Harry corrects. “Sweet, darling boy.”

Eggsy giggles when Harry kisses him again, hugging the Alexandra to his chest. “Well, now you have the biggest and the smallest butterflies in the world. I feel rather accomplished. A mission well done, even by Kingsman standards.”

Harry shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut to press his forehead to Eggsy’s. “Thank you, Eggsy,” he whispers.

A knock at the door makes them jump apart like guilty teenagers.

“Eggsy? What are you doin’ in there?” Michelle asks.

Eggsy’s heart is in his throat and he struggles to speak around it. “Just wakin’ Harry up. Thought he’d like some tea.” He should feel a twinge of shame, maybe, for how easy it is to lie to her like that.

“Alright, well, hurry along then. Daisy sounds like she’s stirrin’ and we should eat a little breakfast before Carol and Roxy come over,” Michelle says before walking away.

Eggsy sighs, sagging against Harry’s side as he embraces him, Harry landing a kiss on the crown of his head. “Well, you’d best get along, I suppose. I’ll be with you shortly, as soon as I’m dressed.”

At that, Eggsy jumps, and slaps a hand over the gift box. “Wait!”

“What is it?”

“Harry, there is one last present in this box, and you have to wear it for me, you get me?”

Harry smiles, sighing as Eggsy climbs off the bed. “Yes, of course, Eggsy.”

“I’ll see you down there,” Eggsy tells him, grinning as he hops to the door and lets himself out.

**

A part of Eggsy really didn’t think it would happen, was certain Harry wouldn’t give in.

But sitting at the breakfast table with his mum, Daisy absently stabbing at her scrambled eggs with a Peppa Pig kiddie fork, Eggsy nearly chokes on his long swig of orange juice when Harry walks in wearing the jumper he’d bought him.

It’s a god awful thing: a turtleneck with a huge Rudolph face on the front, red nose prominent on Harry’s waistline. It was the reindeer’s expression—seemingly side-eyeing anyone to the near right—that had reminded Eggsy so fondly of Harry when he made the purchase.

Harry smooths his hair back and presses his lips to a fine line, ever regal, ever composed.

“Good morning, Michelle,” he says as he nears her. “Morning, Daisy,” he says, practically beaming, before dipping to kiss the top of Daisy’s head.

She waves at him. ”Arry! Good morning!”

Eggsy wipes his chin with the back of his hand, grinning as Harry frowns at him, his expression pinched as he strolls in his cashmere-lined slippers over to the kettle. “Good morning, Harry,” Eggsy calls, and he feels a flutter of warmth when he watches Harry reach up to cup the back of his own neck.

“Morning, Eggsy,” he says, and the love laced into his tone speaks volumes.

It’s that pure adoration in his voice that alerts Eggsy to something unsettling, something he had, until that moment, forgotten.

Eggsy chews on his lip, looks at Harry, then looks at his mother.

He thinks of the reality of Harry Hart in his mum’s kitchen the morning of Boxing Day, wearing the jumper that Eggsy picked for him, being there just for Eggsy’s sake. Harry has given him so much, and Eggsy can only think of one thing to give him in return.

One simple fucking thing.

Harry’s filling the kettle, and Eggsy can’t stop tapping his foot, can’t stop thinking of Harry’s patience, his giving nature, the way he kissed Eggsy this morning. He thinks of how much they argued in the past twenty-four hours; each moment of electric nerves and tension focused around one sole factor.

Eggsy never wants to feel that again. He never wants to pull away from Harry’s touch, never wants Harry to give him that stern, helpless look that says _there’s nothing we can do._

There’s something Eggsy can do, _right now_ , to ensure that never happens to them again.

Eggsy pokes his fork at his eggs, and he _can’t_ do it. He glances at his mother, and he _wants_ to do it. He wants to say it. He wants to be with Harry, for people to see it and accept them. He wants Harry to be a part of his family. He looks at Harry again, and he’s so in love with him, so crushed by it he can hardly breathe. He _has_ to do it.

He can’t let this go on. Though as the minutes tick by, he hopes the feeling will die, as it has before.

It doesn’t. In fact, it swells to press all of Eggsy’s nerves against his skin, making him feel wired and vulnerable.

He has to do it, today. Right now.

Eggsy spears a slice of sausage on his fork. He opens his mouth, closes it, crosses his legs under the table so quickly he bangs his knee, and opens his mouth again. Every action is an excuse to remain silent, to not do anything but focus on appearing normal. But when his mouth falls open, sound tumbles out. “Mum—” he starts, but nothing follows.

She swallows her mouthful and lifts her gaze to his face. “Yeah, babe?”

Eggsy exhales slowly, voice trapped behind the barricade of his thoughts. His mind is a mess, a cacophony of noise. The man he’s in love with is too fucking good for Eggsy, and he’s willing to sit like a fucking potted plant in the corner. That’s well fucked up, that is—Harry deserves to be in the sun. He’s the centre of Eggsy’s life, for Christ’s sake.

“Eggsy?” Michelle says quietly, and it reminds Eggsy that he had just said something.

“Sorry! Lost my train of thought, I did.”

“Have you found it yet?” she teases.

Eggsy chews on the inside of his lip and glowers down at his fry-up. He huffs. “Eggsy, my god, what in the world is wrong, babe? You look sick,” Michelle gasps, and Eggsy wonders if Harry hears it from way over by the counter, because he doesn’t look up to see if Michelle’s concerns are founded. Eggsy stares hard at Harry, seeing in him all the courage he needs to be reminded of why he’s about to do what he plans on doing. It anchors his mind, takes that one thought and makes it sink down to the tip of his tongue.

By now, Eggsy’s heartbeat is thunder in his ears, his hand is shaking around his fork, his nerves are on fire, and _he just fucking has to do this._

_For Harry._

_For us._

He’s ready to cross the bridge. He just hopes Harry is right behind him.

“Mum, Harry and I are together,” he blurts out, finally.

Eggsy wonders, for a moment, if he said it at all, with how still and quiet everything has gone. Maybe he chalked it up in his mind, and then his mouth failed him, as usual.

But the look on his mother’s face is now far from concerned. She’s gone unnaturally still, her lips parted, eyes wide and almost glassy as the thought processes in her mind. There's a trickling sound, and Eggsy blinks, glancing at Harry behind his mother.

The kettle is in one hand, pouring a steady stream, but Harry’s gaze is on Eggsy’s face, and the steaming water is pouring out onto the counter and splashing to the floor instead of into his mug.

Yes, he most definitely said it out loud.

Michelle’s fork clatters against her plate, and she laughs. _Fuck_ , she laughs, but it’s quiet and brittle, her brows furrowing as she looks at Eggsy as one might observe a misshapen creature at the zoo.

“I’m sorry?” she whispers.

Eggsy swallows around the lump that had blocked up his throat. He looks back at Harry again, who has thankfully stopped spilling his tea, but has made no move to clean the mess nor taken his heated gaze from Eggsy’s face. His stare has gone dark like molten honey, his jaw squared and lips lightly parted. He’s holding his shoulders in a way that makes Eggsy uncomfortable—as if flinching from a fight, preparing for a hit.

Eggsy would know.

And it wrecks him—makes his stomach drop and his head feel sick. He wants to throw himself out of his chair and take up the space between his mother and Harry. But that would be a step too far, even for Eggsy.

So he licks his lips and looks back at his mum, hand finally gone still on his fork. “I . . . I said Harry and I are together. Like a couple. We’re datin’, Mum—real official-like.”

She shakes her head and holds out a hand, as if to shush him, though Eggsy has already stopped talking. “I hear what you’re saying—I’m just not sure I’m hearing it correctly.”

“What part’s botherin’ you?”

“The part where you said _dating_ ,” she snaps coldly.

Eggsy ignores the way her tone makes him quiver, and holds his head a little higher. There is no room to back down now.

Michelle’s hand lashes out and grabs onto Eggsy’s wrist. “Eggsy, I swear to god, if he’s forcing you—”

Harry jolts as if he’s been burnt. And yes, Eggsy should have known that it would come down to this. No matter that he’s a perfectly functioning fucking _adult_ ; Harry’s age is a ‘problem,’ and _he_ looks like he’s in the wrong. As if Eggsy were a silly child prancing head first into something he doesn’t understand.

He understands perfectly fucking well, thanks much. “Christ, _no_ , mum. It ain’t like that—I love him!” Eggsy snaps back, yanking his hand free. Once the words come out, it’s like a free-fall, and Eggsy’s eyes go wide and his breath gets stopped up in his throat. He feels he may have crossed a line from which he can’t turn back.

Harry presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut.

Eggsy’s blood goes cold, and the room suddenly seems terribly hot. Michelle blinks at him rapidly before her jaw clicks shut and she closes her eyes.

“You what?”

Eggsy looks over at Harry, squaring his jaw and pulling his shoulders back. “I love him, Mum. Harry, he . . . ” And what can he possibly say to sum it all up? How can he find a word so eloquent that his mother just might understand how he feels?

He can’t. That’s the truth of it. So he just sits there, staring at his useless fucking sausage, feeling just as ineffective. This is the part where he should be backing up his feelings; this is the part that should come easily. He has so much to say about Harry, so many beautiful, wonderful things that would no doubt make his mother realise just how he feels about him. He loves Harry so fucking much, and he’s just sitting there, mouth hung open, throat closed around words he can’t say, and he feels like such a fucking failure.

“And you?” Michelle says sternly, twisting around in her chair to give Harry a look that might turn lesser men to stone. “What have you got to say about this?” She gets up out of her chair, rounding on Harry, getting so close to him that he almost shrinks back. “I knew you was no good, Hart. You took my husband. You’re trying to take my _boy_ . Do you know how old he is? He is less than _half_ your fucking age.”

Harry doesn’t flinch, but he glances over Michelle’s shoulder at Eggsy, frozen in his chair. “I am well aware,” he says softly. “I promise you, Michelle, I hadn’t intended for this to happen.”

“Oh, you didn’t, eh?”

“But I’m glad it did, and I would _never_ hurt him. Nothing on this earth could change that fact.”

“What good are your promises? Did you promise Lee that he was gonna come home to his wife and son?”

Harry’s jaw clenches. “Not once. Lee knew the risks.”

“Eggsy is just a _boy,_ ” Michelle snaps.

“He knows them as well. And he’s a perfectly grown man with a perfectly solid head on his shoulders, despite all he’s been through. He entered this relationship of his own volition, and he can leave it whenever he wants,” Harry says, and Eggsy springs upright in his chair.

“Oi, I’m sittin’ right here!”

“Yes, and you’ve helped enough,” Harry sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Michelle, if you’re to slap me again, I’d rather we just get it over and done with. But I’m telling you right now, Eggsy is my world. He is my sole reason for existing, and I can say nothing for our circumstances other than that they are unusually, strangely fortunate. Incredibly unorthodox, perhaps, but fortunate nonetheless.”

She growls through her teeth. “How can you be so fucking calm and smug about this? Are you fucking joking?”

“Oh, I’m hardly calm. I had no idea Eggsy was going to tell you this when I woke this morning,” he says, shaking his head. “And I am never smug. Not about sensitive matters such as these.” He looks up at the ceiling as if it’s painfully interesting. “And I _never_ joke at breakfast time.”

Michelle scoffs and whips around, glaring at Eggsy. “Don’t tell me you fell in love with his _charm_.”

“Well, he’s got loads of it,” Eggsy tries, and when his mother’s stare sharpens, he shrinks.

She covers her mouth with both hands and shakes her head. “Eggsy, this is the man that _killed_ your father. He’s nearly killed _you_ —”

“My dad died in Kingsman training throwin’ himself on a grenade to save the lives of his friends. _I_ nearly died in Kingsman training savin’ the _world_ . Harry’s done a bloody _well_ good job of making Unwins into heroes when we was _nothin’_ before,” Eggsy rushes out, rising from his chair. He grabs his mother by the shoulders, and she gives an aching sigh, pain etching itself across her expression. “Mum, I _love_ you. You are the strongest, most amazin’ woman I know, and you’ve got the toughest heart. But I need you to soften up a bit, cause Harry’s not goin’ anywhere. Not any time soon.”

“Are you _mad_ , my love?”

“Maybe. But it would help if you could be a little bit mad, too. I need to know—exactly _why_ don’t you want me to date Harry? And you can’t use Dad, because I’ve forgiven him for that, and you can’t use Kingsman, ‘cause I chose it for myself,” Eggsy says, rubbing soothing circles into his mother’s shoulders, rocking her lightly.

“Stop that, you brat,” she huffs, but already, she sounds less angry. “Well, obviously, there’s the age—”

“Just a number, and not one I care about,” Eggsy retorts.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Harry huffs, leaning against the counter. Michelle groans loudly. “He’s older than your _father!_ ”

“You two and the fuckin’ age thing. Swear down, you act like it’s such a big deal,” Eggsy mutters sharply, miffed at the memory of Harry making the same fuss as his mother.

“Babe, really. Look at you. You’re so handsome, incredibly smart, talented. You could have any girl—”

“So it’s a _gay_ thing?” Eggsy baulks.

“ _No_ , for Christ’s sake. I don’t care about that! You could have any girl _or_ boy, or _what have you._ Why do you want him?” She jerks her chin back at Harry, who looks just as expectant, awaiting Eggsy’s answer like the accused on the executioner’s block.

Eggsy just grins, laughing as his cheeks flush and his stomach does flips. “How could I _not_ want him?” He looks at Harry, who is wearing a bemused, timid smile. It’s the first time since the conversation started that Harry looks anything close to his usual collected, confident self, and Eggsy grins even wider. “I just love him. I love everythin’ about him, and I didn’t think it would be so easy to just . . . _love him_. And he loves me back,” he says, almost incredulously, squeezing his mum’s shoulders. “He loves me, Mum. Swear down, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

“Oh, Eggsy,” his mother sighs.

“You don’t have to love him, too. Not yet. But it’d be nice if you did, someday. Cause Harry deserves all the love in the world. He’s bloody brilliant, mum. Really, he is,” Eggsy rambles, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and fights his every instinct, because he wants nothing more than to close the distance between himself and the boy he loves just to hold him in his arms.

Michelle twists in Eggsy’s grasp, looking over her shoulder at Harry.

He stiffens the slightest bit, fingers tapping nervously.

Her brows furrow, but not in anger. It’s something close to confusion, and she parts her lips as if to speak. But she’s not looking at the same Harry Hart that told her that her husband was dead. This isn’t the same man. He’s the person Eggsy has chosen, the man he’s in love with . . . and he’s wearing a pitiful, desperate look, pleading with her without speaking, asking for something that, in his heart, he knows he doesn’t exactly deserve.

Before Michelle can speak, Daisy makes a less than pleased sound at the end of the table, staring at the fork she’s dropped on the floor. Sighing, Michelle lifts her hand and presses her fingers to her temple. “Hart, can you just . . . I don’t know, take Daisy in the livin’ room for a minute?”

Without another word, Harry nods and crosses the kitchen, scooping Daisy into his arms. He takes a small bit of comfort in her familiar embrace, glancing at Eggsy for but a moment before he takes his leave.

Eggsy watches him go, and the sight of the man he loves and his little sister almost calms him, nearly makes him smile.

Then he remembers that he’s standing in the kitchen with his mother, alone . . . and he’s just told her something that may make her hate him forever.

A long, tired exhale falls from her lips, and she sits back down at the table. She looks aged, like a hundred days have passed at a snail’s pace, and she buries her face in her hands and sighs again.

“ . . . Mum?”

She looks up at him, hands still cupping her delicate mouth. “Babe, you don’t . . . I mean, you ain’t never been in love before. How do you know you’re in love with him?”

Eggsy laughs despite himself, climbing back into his seat beside her. “That should be the first sign, shouldn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “Eggsy, he’s twice your age. He works a dangerous profession—”

“As far as the world is concerned, he’s a tailor. ‘Sides, _I’m_ the one with the dangerous job. Harry’s a desk-warmer now.”

“Him getting you into a dangerous profession is not a reason for me to like him any more,” Michelle says.

Eggsy continues, waving it off. “And I told you I ain’t bothered by the age thing. Harry’s as fit and lovely as any bloke my age, if not more so. He’s a complete gentleman.”

Michelle scoffs, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “Babe, no.”

“What do you mean, _no?_ I love him.”

“And what do you know about love, Eggsy? You’re a bloody child. You’ve never seen enough of it to know any better, and it’s my fault!” Michelle snaps suddenly, and after she’s said it she looks like she’s been struck by her own words. She closes her eyes slowly, and Eggsy’s chest hurts, his brows pinching tight.

“Mum, that’s . . . you never done nothin’ but love me.”

“I married a man who _hit you_ ,” she whispers.

Eggsy instantly reaches across the space between them and takes her hands in his, smiling as brightly as he can with his heart splitting. “Weren’t your fault. That weren’t ever your fault, Mum, you get me? Dean was a fuckin’ monster, but you loved him in the beginning.”

“How do you know your precious Hart ain’t gonna be a monster?”

Eggsy pauses, his mind caught in a violent, lightning strike of memory.

He can see Harry turning too slowly, raising his gun and shooting a civilian woman point blank in the head. He can see the monster, unleashed, unyielding, unloading his clip, tearing a knife from his shoulder to stab another, spearing a man with a flagpole, tossing a grenade into the air, taking the blast, staggering to his feet and back into the fray of the battle once more.

Blinking, Eggsy shakes his head, and he thinks of waking up, screaming his throat dry into Harry’s shoulder. He feels Harry’s hands brushing down his shoulders, his voice gentle against his hair. He sees Harry stirring too much sugar into a cup that is not his own, chatting with JB as if the pug can reply, and more and more brilliantly warm memories of Harry that are so pure they’re white compared to that splash of red staining Harry’s hands in the feed from his glasses.

Eggsy smiles. “I already saw the monster . . . worst is behind me,” he tells her, squeezing her hands. “Harry makes me feel _safe_ , Mum. And I love that. Almost as much as I love him. I love how he makes me feel . . . he makes me feel _better_ about myself.”

She smiles brightly at him, eyes glittering with tears, and shakes her head. “God, you look just like your . . . ” She pauses, clearing her throat around a sob disguised as a laugh. “You look just like your dad.”

He shakes his head, grinning down at where their hands are laced.

“ . . . I haven’t seen a smile like that since Lee was here,” Michelle adds, freeing her hands from Eggsy’s grasp so she can hold them back. “He really does something for you, doesn’t he? Something good?”

Eggsy grins. “The best.”

She presses her lips, nodding as she glances back down at their hands, because it’s hard to look at that expression on Eggsy’s face, too precious and sweet. “Still can’t say I approve of him. Not now, anyway.”

He tips his head back with a roll of his eyes.

“But I _am_ glad he makes you happy . . . I’m glad he makes you feel safe.”

Eggsy tuts. “You make me feel safe, too, Mum.”

“Oh, please. If anything, _you_ make _me_ feel safe,” she says, reaching out to cup his cheek in her hand. “My gorgeous little hero.”

A heartbeat stretches between them. Minutes pass, maybe, before the floor creaks at the front of the kitchen.

“Forgive me,” Harry says, and they both turn to look at him. Shit, he’s barefoot, Eggsy notes, and he looks so endearing in his light trousers and that awful reindeer jumper. He adjusts his glasses. “Miss Daisy is going on about playing with her presents now.”

Eggsy smiles broadly at him, more in love with him than ever before. It’s in his blood now, a constant fire Harry is fanning. He will never stop loving Harry, and he will love him more and more with every second. It’s unavoidable and unstoppable.

And Eggsy doesn’t care, because he couldn’t be happier.

“Thanks, Harry,” he says, and turns back to his mum. ”Wanna go see what Santa got the little flower?”

Michelle sighs heavily and removes her hand from Eggsy’s cheek in favour of threading her fingers through her hair and tugging. “So long as there ain’t any spy gadgets under that tree,” she says. Then she looks up at Harry and says, “Hey, Hart.”

“Yes, Michelle?”

“That jumper looks bloody ridiculous on you. I like it.” With that, she stands up, kisses the top of Eggsy’s head, and slides past Harry out of the kitchen without another word.

**

Roxy shows up right before Carol and Jake, and try as he might to get caught up in the Boxing Day lunch his mum has put on to get rid of the leftovers, Eggsy can’t seem to ignore the way that Harry has withdrawn from him. He hardly eats, hardly even says a thing, unless in reply to someone else. He’s constantly looking down, off to the side, as if a thought is hovering there only he can see. Troubling him. Relentless.

Whenever Harry catches  Eggsy glancing over at him, he lifts his head and  smiles as if nothing is wrong.

But that tiny shadow is still cast over his shoulders, the same tension still holding his expression.

Whatever's bothering him, Eggsy thinks, won't wait forever. Whatever it is, it'll be waiting for them at home.

He’s right, of course.

Once the afternoon dies down, Jim and Roxy both gone, Eggsy finishes helping his mum clean the kitchen before he announces that he and Harry will be leaving soon.

She avoids making any cynical remarks—but just barely.

When Eggsy leans into the living room, he finds Carol shamelessly flirting with Harry, lounging on his arm rest while Harry stares painfully dead ahead at the tree. It’d be almost funny, how deadpanned Harry’s expression is, if Eggsy didn’t feel that same flare of molten fire as the first time he ever saw Carol throw herself at Harry.

But that was before.

This? This time, Harry is Eggsy’s, unquestionably, and he thinks up a dozen ways to kill her in an instant. This time, it’s complete and total rage.

Harry laughs politely at something Carol said, and she giggles, curling her fingers against the back of his neck, leaning her weight into him as if she belongs there.

 _Oh_. That was not alright.

Eggsy bristles, every nerve a hot wire, and he is a heartbeat away from unstrapping the gun from his ankle and shooting a hole through the ceiling just to prove a point.

Michelle cups Eggsy’s shoulders and pushes him into the living room. “Hurry up then, before the roads get ugly. And Carol, love,” she says, turning her attention to the redhead. “Stop hitting on Hart. Have some respect, yeah?”

“Respect, hun?”

Michelle puts her hand on her hip and looks Harry from toe to head. “That’s Eggsy’s boyfriend.”

Carol’s brows shoot up into her carefully curled fringe, and her ruby-red lips fall open. “Huh?”

Eggsy thinks the same.

“You shouldn’t hit on a man in a relationship. It’s tacky,” Michelle adds, walking over to the sofa to tuck Daisy’s blanket tighter around her little shoulders. “‘Specially not my son’s boyfriend in my house.”

Carol is suddenly incredibly flustered, stammering over herself as she slides off the armrest of the settee. “I . . . I didn’t—what? Eggsy, you—he . . . ”

Eggsy crosses his arms over his chest, a bursting firework of pride going off behind his ribs. He’s not even angry about Carol’s flirting anymore, god, how _could_ he be? That was the most supportive thing his mum has said all day!

“Yeah. He’s mine,” he says triumphantly, trying not to smirk but totally smirking. “You ready to go, love?” He tries not to lay it on thick, but _damn_ , he lays it on thick.

And god, he loves his mum so much right now.

**

When they arrive back at Stanhope Mews, Eggsy lets JB out to sniff at some bushes while he grabs the presents from his mum and Roxy, Harry retrieving their overnight bags.

Eggsy looks up at the balcony as they meander up the snow-dusted pathway, a bit of calm returning to him as Harry keys the front door open and lets them in.

The scent of their shared home is intense and intimate compared to the constant lull of cinnamon in his mum’s house. There’s a bit of Harry’s cologne, because it’s just that good and strong; the soft muster of JB’s dog smell; and the cleaning powder the lovely housekeeper puts down on the rugs. All in all, it has Eggsy sighing heavily as he shuts the front door behind him, giving him something to lean against as he closes his eyes and sags against the wood.

“Home . . . it’s well good to be home,” he breathes, JB’s claws scuffling away from him.

The door’s lock clicks into place beside him, and opening his eyes, Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat.

He’s trapped, caged against the door by Harry’s hands on either side of him, the long line of his body just barely too far, an inch of terrible, empty space between them from shoulder to toe.

Eggsy tilts his head back, baring his throat . . . waiting.

Harry studies him quietly, intimately, the dim light from the hall behind them leaving a warm wall of shadows for Eggsy to nestle into. Harry lifts one hand, brushes the backs of his knuckles over Eggsy’s cheekbone, down his jawline to his chin, pressing the pad of his thumb to Eggsy’s plush bottom lip.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Eggsy whispers, still perfectly immobile, waiting for whatever it is Harry seems to be preparing for.

Harry’s breath is a warm sigh on Eggsy’s lips, the blissful brush of it weakening his knees as that gun-calloused thumb parts his lips.

“It’s not often that I allow myself to feel things beyond moderation, Eggsy,” Harry begins, leaning forward so that, slowly, the space between them is crushed, and Eggsy can feel the warmth seeping through him. “It is also incredibly uncommon that said emotions get the better of me.”

Eggsy smiles softly, closing his eyes. “You don’t have to be all posh with me, Harry.” He lifts one hand to touch Harry’s hip, the other curling around the wrist of the hand cupping his jaw. “Just talk to me.”

Harry exhales raggedly, and when Eggsy opens his eyes he gets the barest glimpse of fire burning in Harry’s gaze before his mouth is claimed. A gasp of surprise falls from his lips, and Harry pants against his open mouth before kissing him, demanding, but also vulnerable. There’s a certain frantic press to his mouth, his hand still curved against Eggsy’s jaw, that Eggsy feels in his bones, and he grips onto Harry for dear life.

Harry’s other hand removes itself from the door in favour of grasping Eggsy’s hip, pulling him off the door and curving their bodies together. When Eggsy moans, Harry turns his face away and begins peppering kisses down his jaw, over his already racing pulse.

“This ain’t exactly talkin’.” Eggsy laughs breathlessly, tilting his head to the side so that Harry can nip at the tender flesh of his neck.

Groaning, Harry takes Eggsy’s face between his hands and kisses him again, nipping his lips, tonguing them open, locking into Eggsy’s mouth with strokes that Eggsy matches in enthusiasm and finesse.

“Harry—” Eggsy gasps, tugging anxiously at the fabric of his jumper. “Harry, please.”

“I love you,” Harry pants, and Eggsy must be losing his mind, because it sounded like there was a quiver in his voice. Pulling back, Harry brushes his thumbs across Eggsy’s cheekbones and looks into his eyes, already breathless. There’s so much light in his whiskey stare, the softest tremble to his lips, and Eggsy breaks himself out of his startled silence by laughing.

He reaches up and grips Harry’s wrists gingerly, brushing his thumbs over the backs of his hands. “I know, Harry. I know that.”

“You didn’t have to tell your mother about us. I would have been content to keep it a secret forever if it meant I could just be beside you, and yet you still risked the happy relationship you have with her for me,” Harry blurts out.

“I did this _for us_ . I did it for _you_. Harry, you’re everything to me, and I will, every chance I get, show you just how much you mean to me. Do you get that?”

“Eggsy, darling, you cannot understand, you cannot begin to . . . ” He shakes his head, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’ve got it just fine,” Eggsy laughs. “I love you, too, remember?”

Harry sighs and kisses him again, more softly than before, flooding Eggsy with warmth and dizziness. “It’s not—” Harry cuts himself off by kissing Eggsy again. And again, and again, running one hand from his cheek down to his shoulder, pressing a thumb-shaped bruise into the skin.

It’s not the same, Harry wants to shout, because Eggsy is worth more than all the stars in the sky, more than all the brilliant lights in the universe, and Harry doesn’t deserve him. He is so unworthy to breathe the air falling from Eggsy’s lips, so unworthy of the way this boy looks at him like his heart might burst from his chest.

So he lets himself be greedy and kisses his gorgeous boy, this boy which fate so forgivingly thrust into his arms despite Harry’s lack of worth.

Eggsy doesn’t question it, just lets himself be kissed into a stupor. Clearly, this is what Harry needs right now—to kiss Eggsy out of thought, out of focus, until there is nothing and no one but them.

And he’ll gladly go.

“I love you, Harry,” Eggsy sighs.

“I know, darling.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Harry presses their foreheads together, a frustrated sound falling from his lips, and Eggsy hugs him tighter, waits patiently. “I’m really not sure what I did to deserve it. I’m not sure that I actually do.”

“Harry, you do. A hundred times over, god—don’t even . . . ” Eggsy groans, cupping Harry’s cheeks, brushing his thumbs over the terribly perfect slope of his cheekbones, smiling up at him. It turns a little sly, a bit knowing, and Harry is not sure where the sudden smug curl of Eggsy’s lip came from. “So, I was right then.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You was actin’ off all day ‘cause you really think you don’t deserve me.”

Harry turns his gaze away without pulling free from Eggsy’s hold. “I was not, in any way, behaving strangely.”

“Oh my god, that _is_ why.” He laughs softly. “And the night before. When you was all quiet, you was doubtin’ that I’d _ever_ tell my mum.”

“I was in no way more quiet than usual last night, either.”

“You really thought I’d be content to let you sit there and doubt how much I love you while I could see that you was in pain? Harry, not a chance in the world. You come first. Forever.”

Harry just groans, taking Eggsy’s wrists to remove his hands from his face.

“You’re really surprised I told my mum. You’re shocked I actually love you that much.”

“I thought you were going to wait. It simply took me off guard, Eggsy,” Harry retorts.

“Harry, _christ_ , just be honest with me,” Eggsy says, then lowers his voice to a tender murmur. “Please.”

A long minute of silence passes between them, and Harry smiles, closing his eye and shaking his head. “I’m not sure how to explain. Eggsy, you . . . you’re everything to me. I don’t see how . . . ”

Eggsy blinks. “How I could want you. . . ” He thinks about the kitchen, about Harry’s slippers soaking up tea while his mum glared at him with betrayal in her eyes. “Harry, everything I told her is true. I love everything about you, and the way you make me feel?” He laughs giddily, kissing Harry’s jawline. “I’d give you the moon, Harry.”

“Don’t speak like that. It’s _you_ , Eggsy,” Harry whispers, dropping his head forward onto Eggsy’s shoulder. “You deserve the moon and more, my prince.”

“I’ll settle for the sun,” Eggsy breathes, hugging Harry close, inhaling him so that Harry’s scent will forever be burnt into the tissue of his lungs.

“Sorry?”

A blush colours Eggsy’s face and he laughs into Harry’s neck. “You’re my sun. Didn’t you know?”

Harry presses a smiling kiss into Eggsy’s hair. “That’s beautiful, darling.”

“What can I say?”

“You can say you love me.”

Harry’s voice is a whisper, a pleading, nearly desperate sound, and Eggsy stiffens at the cold shiver it spreads through his blood. He pushes Harry back, curls his fingers under Harry’s jaw, and forces their eyes to meet.

“Harry, I love you. Don’t you ever doubt that, sweetheart, alright?”

A heavy sigh pulls Harry’s shoulders down. “I’ll endeavour not to, darling.”

“Well, endeavour a bit harder, yeah? You’re all I want, Harry. All I need.”

Harry’s gaze darkens, like he’s struggling to swallow a retort, but he doesn’t challenge it. Just lifts his hand and brushes his fingers across Eggsy’s cheekbone. “Supposing that’s true . . . what then?”

Eggsy grins. “Dunno yet.”

Shaking his head, Harry’s smile returns with dazzling brilliance. “Oh, darling . . . whatever am I to do with you?”

Eggsy grins, rising onto his toes. He kisses Harry again, and proceeds to show him _exactly_ what he can do.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> SO, this is the beautiful caramel reduction that came of boiling down way too much sugar and way too many words. And to think it was nearly 50k of mostly fluff. How could I? This series has a reputation for angst, gall darnit. I gotta uphold that.
> 
> Another beautiful, insanely grateful thank you to my darling [thirstforfirth](http://thirstforfirth.tumblr.com/) who, in a very short amount of time, has made me feel like ten times the writer I was before we met. You guys should thank her, too. For without her encouragement, many things to come in Breathless would not be possible. Insert a bazillion heart emojis.
> 
> To all of my lovely readers, thank you. Thank you. I continue to burn the four a.m. oil for you guys. This fic was the result of many a sleepless night sitting on my futon drinking sugary drinks. I'm also pleased to say that the next few chapters of Breathless shouldn't take NEARLY as long as this one, now that I've a shit-ton of guidance and considering a few of them are nearly done and just need tweaking. I must apologize for lack of smut? But you guys will be getting the smuts soon, I tell ya!! Insert one hundred thank yous.
> 
> I had a much more romantic, graceful speech to give, but it is late, and while I had it in my mind yesterday, that was also nearly five a.m. this morning, and I was rather useless. So you'll hafta settle for some Taron gifs.
> 
>   
> Kinda inspiration for Eggsy's sleep shirt. Also? Taron's arms.
> 
>   
>   
> Irrelevant, but we all know I'm a slut for Taron's neck beauty mark. Unf.
> 
>   
> Eggsy looking at Harry, tbh.
> 
>   
> Inspiration for Eggsy's sweater was my own, which has more glitter. Call me self-indulgent,but y'all know he so would.
> 
> Have some ridiculous sweater-wearing Colin, courtesy of Liz and _Bridget Jones' Diary. ___  
>   
> Sorry not sorry.
> 
> So, I think that about wraps it up. Hope you guys all stick around for whatever shenanigans I throw at these two next. Until next time, lovelies.
> 
> \--Special thanks to Shia Labeouf for motivation, my WiFi for never caving, 8tracks for endless hours of background noise, and anything else that got this fic done.
> 
> Finally, a moment of silence for my old keyboard, who lost a fight with a cup of tea. Through his keys, I hammered out 100k of Hartwin, and upon him I wrote the Breathless we all love. His memory will live on through that fic. May this new keyboard bring you all such happiness.


End file.
